Problems With Dean: Road Trip
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: The Problems With Dean had such a wonderful response, here’s the requested Road Trip. AU version of Faith. Hey, if everyone else can beat it to death, so can I! Ch5 Up. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The Problems With Dean had such a wonderful response, here's the requested Road Trip. AU version of Faith. (Hey, if everyone else can beat it to death, so can I!)

**Problems with Dean: Road Trip**

**Chapter 1**

Mikey's hands shook slightly as he accepted the shotgun from Sam. "What are we after again?" Two months of hunting things that go bump in the night had not eliminated his pre-hunt jitters.

"Rawhead," Sam said simply, as though that explained everything. "Dean, what do you have those amped up to?"

"One hundred thousand volts," Dean rumbled from inside the trunk.

"Damn," Sam muttered, accepting his taser.

"Yeah, I want this rawhead extra freakin' crispy." He slammed the trunk shut. "Remember, you only get one shot with these things, make it count." Dean's eyes rested on Mikey. "That shotgun won't do a damn thing, but it might slow it down a little. Your job is to get the kids out."

Mikey and Sam exchanged a meaningful look as they followed Dean inside. Only kids in danger made their oldest brother like this. Three flashlight beams flashed through the interior of the abandoned house. The musty smell of mold and decay enveloped them as they followed Dean's careful but hurried steps.

There was no sign of anyone, or anything, at ground level. Dean led the way down into the basement. Mikey paused at the top of the stairs. He felt the same way about cellars that Dean did about airplanes, but those were his brothers going down there with whatever-the-hell a rawhead was. Mikey took a deep breath as he followed. By the time he reached the middle of the stairs, two flashlight beams were trained on a cabinet. Mikey heard the noise from the stairs. He trained his shotgun on it, despite the fact he had been told it was worthless.

"On three," Dean's hoarse voice barely reached him on the stairs. "One. Two. Three." He whipped the doors open, Sam at his side. Inside were two children, frightened, hiding.

Mikey saw the relief in Dean's shoulders at finding the kids unharmed.

"Is it still here?" Sam whispered. Mikey could only hear frightened noises.

"Okay," Dean reached down, grabbing the boy's hand. "Grab your sister's hand. Come on, we're going to get you outta here." He led them toward the stairs. Mikey backed up to the top of the stairs, motioning for the kids to come. "Let's go, let's go!" It was strange to hear Dean's voice so commanding, but Mikey was getting used to it.

Mikey waited for the kids to come up. Sam followed them while Dean kept watch downstairs. Mikey gasped as Sam fell halfway down the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean's voice rang out, panicked.

It was too dark to really see anything, but Mikey could tell that Sam had been dragged off the stairs somewhere into the cellar. He heard the crackle of a taser, then Sam reappeared on the stairs.

"Sam, get them out of here!" Dean ordered.

"Here, take this!" Sam tossed his taser down, which Dean caught single-handed. Mikey caught the look from Sam and reached out to grab the boy's hand while Sam scooped the little girl in his arms. They ran through the house, depositing the kids in the relative safety of the Impala before going back to check on Dean.

Sam glared at Mikey a couple of times as they raced for the cellar stairs, apparently it was a better idea for baby brother to stay back with the rest of the kids. Maybe he was part of "them" in "get them out of here." Sam fairly flew down the rickety steps, which Mikey took more cautiously. He noticed Sam's light whipping through the dark.

"Dean!"

Mikey felt his heart skip a beat. There was panic in that single word, that name. Sam uttering that name with panic was more than enough to send a jolt through Mikey that literally took his breath away. He did not notice how the rest of the stairs creaked under his feet as he charged down into the bowels of the dreaded cellar. Dean was slumped in a puddle of water while Sam knelt beside him searching for a pulse in his neck.

"Mikey! He's not breathing!" Sam looked up, eyes wide with fear.

* * *

Mikey stood watching for the doctor. Sam was talking to the nurse at the desk and two police officers. He did not even care why. Where was that stupid doctor? No, Mikey told himself, not stupid. Very bright, very intelligent, very good doctor who was going to come out and tell him his brother was going to be just fine. Sam was walking away from the cops now and he looked like he was on a mission. The doctor!

"Hey, Doc," Sam stopped the doctor in the middle of the hall. "Is he?"

Mikey rushed to stand beside his brother, waiting anxiously.

"He's resting," the doctor replied with a sad nod. That did not sound good. Maybe they were back to 'stupid doctor.'

"The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I'm afraid. It has damaged his heart." Definitely a stupid doctor.

"What are you going to do about it?" Mikey demanded, too aware of his own heart hammering in his chest.

"Well, really all we can do is keep him comfortable. I give him a couple of weeks, maybe a month." No, _asshole_ doctor.

"No. No." Sam shook his head. "There must be something you can do. Right?"

The doctor shook his head sadly. "He's awake, if you want to go in now."

Mikey followed Sam into the hospital room. He noticed his older brother's steps were slow and hesitant as they approached Dean's bed.

"We talked to your doctor," Sam said softly.

"Daytime tv sucks," Dean said as they approached. "You ever see that fabric softner teddy bear? Oh, gonna hunt that little bitch down." With a click, he shut off the tiny television about two feet in front of his face.

Mikey chuckled, but Sam did not look amused. Without the colored light from the tv screen, Dean looked even paler than he did before, if that were possible. Dark rings were forming under his eyes and was Mikey imagining it or was Dean's breathing shallow?

"Don't do this, Dean," Sam's voice was a plea. "We still have options."

Dean stared at the curtain that separated his bed from the rest of the room, which was thankfully empty right now. "Like what? Burial or cremation?"

Mikey managed to stifle his laugh that time as he glanced up. Sam's ears were turning red and that was never a good sign. "Don't." Sam leveled a finger at Dean. "Just don't."

Dean still would not look at them, preferring to stare at that stupid curtain instead. Mikey leaned over and gave him a light punch in the shoulder. "Stop that!"

Dean's eyes slid over to him and a slight smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. "You stop it."

"Make me."

Dean's eyebrows arched at him. "Oh? Gonna make me get up out of this bed, are you?"

"I'm going to figure something out, Dean," Sam said, as though neither had spoken. "We're going to beat this."

Dean rolled his eyes. He did not say anything else, but Mikey had the feeling his oldest brother had already given up, accepted his fate. And that, more than anything the stupid doctor said, scared him right down to his bones.

-

* * *

Sam sat hunched over his father's journal, pouring over the pages as if they held the golden promise of Dean's salvation. Mikey doubted it, but after everything he had seen in the past couple of months, who was he to voice those kinds of thoughts? After all, Sam had prophetic dreams and now waking visions which packed one hell of a punch, there were scarecrows that could eat you, and his brothers' dead mother had appeared out of thin air to save their collective butts. Certainly it was possible to save Dean. Mikey hoped so, for all their sakes.

Sam was not looking too good, either. Since the doctor's pronouncement of Dean's apparent fate his cheeks had sunk in and his eyes had taken on a permanent redness so he looked constantly on the verge of tears. Sam never cried, so Mikey could only assume it was stress. Mom would probably think…

"Shit!" Mikey spun around to face Sam. "We haven't called Mom!" His mind was in a whirl. How were they going to explain that Dean was electrocuted? "What will we tell Pop?"

"Not Pop," Sam pulled out his cell. "I have to call Dad."

What the hell? Mikey watched in disbelief as Sam called the very last person on the entire planet Dean would want them to call. The heavy sigh could only mean one thing: voicemail.

"Dad? It's Sam. I'm calling because Dean," Sam's voice cracked, but he recovered quickly, "it's bad. It's his heart and the doctors here can't do anything. I was hoping you knew someone or about something that would help. Thanks." He took in a shuddering breath as he disconnected the call. "He'll kill me, you know," Sam mumbled.

"Yep." Mikey glared at Sam. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I don't care," Sam was still staring at the phone, as if he could will it to ring. "Whatever it takes to help Dean."

An hour later they had switched places. Mikey, a fresh set of eyes, was reading the journal while Sam used his laptop to cruise the internet for a medical solution. Mikey had not found anything remotely useful, but Sam was much better at that kind of stuff anyway. Sam's cell phone rang.

The laptop tumbled to the bed as Sam lunged for his phone. "Hello?" He frowned. "Yes, this is Sam Winchester." Mikey glared at him. They shared a name, and it was not Winchester. Dean could not even say that name without snarling. "Where? What's his name?" A hand snagged the laptop and Sam typed frantically into it. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks. Joshua, was it? Right. Thanks a lot. Really appreciate it."

Sam slammed the cell phone onto the nightstand. "We're going to Nebraska!"

Before Mikey could ask why, there was a knock on the door. He was closer so he jumped up to answer it. A very pale and haggard looking Dean was leaning against the doorframe, a thin grin on his face. Without a word, Mikey helped him into their crappy motel room, silently cursing himself for not springing for better accommodations. He should have known Dean would just show up with no warning, that was just typical of his big brother.

"Dean, are you crazy!" Sam practically leapt across the room, seizing a chair on his way. He pushed it gently behind their brother as Mikey eased a shivering Dean into it. Even with a zipped up sweatshirt, Dean was cold.

"Dude, I am not dying in some damn hospital." Dean shook his head. His eyes drifted to pages of heart literature littering the beds and floor. "You two have been busy."

"Yeah," Mikey was careful to stand behind Dean as he scowled at Sam. "I still have to call Mom."

"Damn," Dean breathed softly, shaking his head. "What are you gonna say?"

"Don't know," Mikey admitted. "Probably the reason I haven't called her yet."

"Need to do it soon," Dean recommended. "I'm still trying to decide which of you gets the car."

Sam's face darkened, which was probably what spurred Mikey's next comment. "Really? I figured you'd want to be buried in it."

"Considered it, but - nah!" Dean shook his head, that weak grin shining for Mikey alone. "Doubt you can find a plot big enough."

"I thought there was some movie star or somebody who was buried in their car," Mikey racked his brains for the name. He was sure he had heard that somewhere.

"Ah – somebody with money. Nah, just light me up. Toast some marshmallows, drink some beer." Dean was really grinning now.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Not only were Sam's ears red now, but his whole face was flush.

Mikey exchanged a look with Dean and they both cast their eyes to the floor. They had not intended to upset Sam that much. Yeah, some – but not quite that much. He heard Sam take a deep breath.

"I found a specialist in Nebraska. We leave in the morning." Sam's voice was soft yet insistent.

Dean sighed, slumping in the hard wooden chair. "Not gonna let me die in peace, are you?"

"We're not going to let you die. Period." Sam snapped.

Mikey headed for the door. "Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"Somebody has to call Mom," Mikey replied without turning around. He stepped out into the cool night air. He had his cell out, but his fingers were unwilling to press the familiar buttons. What the hell was he going to say?

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

You wanted brotherly interactions and angst? This oughta fill my quota for the day!!**  
**

**Chapter 2**

The call to Mom did not go well at all. When he hung up, she was still insisting on flying out to meet them in Nebraska, but Sam never told him exactly where they were going. For all Mikey knew, this specialist could be a gypsy traveling with a renaissance festival. And as desperate as he suspected Sam was, he would not put it past his brother to do just that.

When he walked back in the room, Sam's cell was going off again. "Probably Mom," he warned Sam. Dean looked amused, but said nothing.

Sam scowled as he looked at his phone. "I'm probably in trouble for not calling sooner."

"She wants to meet us in Nebraska," Mikey said. He watched Sam's carefully schooled features take that hit. Maybe it was a gypsy, because it definitely was not a licensed medical doctor if that reaction was anything to go by.

"I'll take this outside," Sam said sharply as he headed for the door. His phone started ringing again as he stepped outside.

"You can talk in front of me, you know," Dean said. "It's not like I don't understand what's going on."

"Yeah, I know." Mikey stood, helping Dean up and toward one of the beds. "You look like you could use a nap." Dean did not resist. He seemed to have lapsed back into his old persona, the one that let you bully and push him around without consequence. Or maybe his big brother wanted to be looked after? Whatever the reason, by the time Sam came back inside, Mikey had Dean settled under the covers, his eyelids drooping.

Mikey met Sam near the door. "What are we going to do about the beds?" he whispered.

Sam gave him a funny look. "What do you mean?"

Mikey grimaced. "Even if this place has a cot we can borrow, you and I are both too big for one," he hissed. "Dean has to be in a bed. And there is no way I'm sharing a bed with you," he poked Sam in the chest, earning a disdainful glare.

"No kidding," Sam hissed back. "I don't want your big ass rolling over me in the middle of the night anyway. Take the other bed; I'll sleep in a chair or something."

Mikey folded his arms across his chest, staring at his brother skeptically. "In a chair? You expect me to believe that?"

Sam checked his watch. "It's getting late and we need an early start in the morning. Go to bed, Mikey."

Mikey felt like arguing, but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Sam was willing to give him the second bed free and clear, he was going to take it. No problem. Sam waited for Mikey to finish preparing for bed and crawl under the covers before he even headed in to brush his teeth. Mikey fell asleep to the sounds of running water in the bathroom.

Morning came far too early. It usually did. Mikey groaned and stretched, trying to get his bearings. Even after two months of being on the road, he still expected to wake up in his bedroom every morning. Mikey sat up, shaking off sleep. Soft snores came from the next bed. A jolt of panic ran through him as he stood to check on Dean. The sight that met his eyes was, well, amusing.

Sam apparently lied about his intention of sleeping in a chair. He was sharing Dean's bed, his longer frame curled around their older brother as one arm hugged Dean to him like a small child, back to chest. In sleep Sam's normally stoic face was twisted either with a bad dream or pain, his chin buried in Dean's short hair. Dean's head was nearly buried under the comforter, so Mikey had to walk around the bed to check on his oldest brother. Dean's face was blissfully content, a look Mikey could not ever recall seeing there. This was not the first time Mikey had seen his older brothers share a bed, that had been common when they were younger and Dean's nightmares had been bad enough to wake the entire house if Sam were not there to quiet him. But this was the first time since Sam's freakish growth spurts had started, making sharing a bed both unwieldy and, he assumed, uncomfortable.

Mikey considered waking them so he could tease Sam unmercifully, but the idea that this might be the last time his brothers could share a bed, or anything, flashed painfully through his mind. Feeling suddenly left out, Mikey headed for the door. Outside, crisp morning air helped distract him from the feelings of isolation. He headed to the diner on the far side of the motel parking lot, trying to remember stormy nights when both his brothers would crawl into bed with him, to keep the thunder away.

He returned to the room with three coffees and enough biscuits for everyone. Before opening the door, Mikey pressed his ear against it. He was thankful to hear someone up and moving around inside. He pushed the door open carefully, unsure if Dean might still be sleeping.

"Hey, kid," Dean rested his head on one hand at the table. "Where you been? Sam's about to lose it." His eyes were only half open, as though he lacked the energy or strength to open them all the way.

"What's the first rule? The very first rule we taught you?" Sam demanded, pulling himself to his full height so he could tower over Mikey. Mikey shrugged, he had no idea why Sam was so upset. "Take your cell!" Sam thrust it at him.

Mikey smiled sheepishly as he set their breakfast on the table. He took his cell from Sam and slipped it into his pocket. "Sorry. I was just at the diner."

"Don't let it happen again!" Sam snapped, eyes flashing with anger.

"What's with him?" Mikey mumbled to Dean as he slid a coffee across the table.

Dean waited until Sam stormed outside with the first of their bags to load the car before answering. "I think he's having bad dreams again," Dean confided softly, as if Sam might hear him from the car. "And he was worried about you. Dude, at least leave a note."

"You don't sound too happy with me, either," Mikey observed.

Dean offered him a small smile that appeared to suck up energy he did not have. "I was worried, too. You and Sam are going to have to look after each other, you know."

Mikey frowned. "It's creepy to hear you talk that way," he said, concentrating on pulling a biscuit out of the bag.

"According to Oprah, closure helps the healing process." Dean's shoulders barely moved in a shrug. "Just trying to help you two out."

The door banged behind Sam as he came back for Dean's bag. He threw Mikey another glare as he swept back out.

"He's packing for you, too?" Mikey asked, stuffing some biscuit in his mouth.

"Freaking mother hen," Dean muttered. "You'd better get your bag, before he leaves you here."

Mikey started at that. "He wouldn't."

"You ever see him in a mood like this before?" Dean asked, nodding to the door. "I can buy you a few minutes with breakfast here, but you'd better move it."

Mikey crammed the rest of his biscuit in his mouth as he jumped up. He only had a few things to stuff in his bag. He could feel Sam's heated gaze as he headed out to the car. When he came back, Sam was sitting quietly talking with Dean as though nothing were wrong. Mikey slid into an empty chair and waited to see if Sam was still mad at him.

"What did Mom day?" Dean asked, picking at a biscuit.

"She still wants to meet us in Nebraska," Sam replied, not looking at either of them.

"And?" Dean prompted.

Sam shrugged. "I promised to call her after you got an appointment."

Mikey shifted his eyes to Sam, suspicious. They were driving all the way to Nebraska without an appointment?

Dean nodded. "Don't really want her around, you know, when it happens." He took a deep breath. "Not sure I can handle that."

"We're going to beat this, Dean," Sam insisted softly. Mikey noticed Sam was twirling his coffee cup, an old nervous habit.

Dean snorted, breaking off a small piece of biscuit. "We ready?" he asked wearily.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" Sam asked, staring down at Dean's mostly untouched breakfast.

"Not hungry," Dean said with a shrug, sipping his coffee.

"Dean, you need to eat," Sam insisted.

"Take it with you," Mikey suggested. When Sam glared at him, he continued, "He can eat it in the car, on the way. Does it matter how long it takes him to eat it, as long as he eats?"

Sam considered that. "I guess not." He sounded the same way Mom did when Dean waited outside to walk them to school when they were kids - apprehensive.

Dean stood, taking his biscuit and coffee with him. Sam hovered close behind, as though the oldest might collapse at any moment. Mikey made a last sweep of the motel room, making sure they did not forget anything. On impulse, he decided to check under the beds, something he normally did not do. Then again, it was normally Sam who did the last sweep of the room. And normally Dean was not dying. So nothing right now was normal anyway, Mikey reflected as he peered under the beds.

He spotted something under his bed. His fingers closed around worn leather. With a frown, he pulled out John Winchester's journal. What the hell was it doing there? Mikey gave the open door a quick glance before taking another look at it. There was a sheet of motel stationary sticking out between the pages. Mikey carefully opened it to that page and read the entry.

_I'm not sure what to do. Mike said he would call CPS if I didn't get some help and soon. He didn't say what kind of help he meant, but Kate has been harping on psychiatrists again, so that isn't hard to figure out. I just can't help but feel I've missed something, that there is more to Mary's death than meets the eye. Mike keeps telling me that it was just a housefire. He doesn't like the books I've been buying lately either. He went ballistic when he caught me reading one about ghost hunting. I wonder if the boys would be safe with him, at least for a little while? Just until I figure this thing out. I don't think I would be able to handle anything happening to them, too._

Mikey snapped the journal shut. He was tempted to shove it back under the bed where he found it when Sam's voice bellowed through the open door. "You coming or are we leaving you here?"

He shoved the journal under his arm, closing and checking the door behind him. Mikey hopped into the back seat. He and Sam had agreed that no matter what, Dean would be allowed to sit up front during the drive. Just in case.

The first hour was passed in silence, only the sounds of the road and Zepplin filling the car. From behind, Mikey watched Dean's fingers drum a steady rhythm on the door armrest. When his fingers stilled, Mikey leaned forward to check. Dean's head slumped to the side, his eyes were closed, and his breathing was even shallower. He was sleeping.

"He's asleep," Mikey whispered to Sam.

Sam jumped, gripped the wheel tighter and threw Mikey a vicious glare. "Do you mind?" he snapped.

"Sam, what the hell is wrong with you?" Mikey demanded, keeping his voice low. "You've been snapping my head off all morning!"

Sam refused to answer, staring ahead at the road.

"Is this still about not taking my cell?" Mikey asked, unable to believe he deserved this kind of treatment for something so stupid. Sam's eyes never left the road. Mikey pondered Sam's mood and Dean's condition. An awful, terrible thought crept into his mind. "You think this is my fault?"

Sam did glance away from the road then. "What? No. I…" His eyes returned to the front and his jaw muscle jumped a few times. "That's not it."

"What then?" Mikey could not imagine what was going through Sam's mind. Dean was easy. You could just look at him and know what he was thinking. At least, Mikey and Sam had always been able to do that. Sam was hard. There was no telling how his mind was working today, and it jumped tracks and reversed directions fast enough to make Mikey dizzy.

"It's not your fault, Sam," Dean's voice pierced the air.

Both Sam and Mikey jumped at the sound. Was he really asleep earlier or just that still? Now that was a creepy thought: Dean being still.

Sam sighed deeply. "Dean, I…I should have…"

"No, Sam. You and Mikey did everything just fine. It was my own damn fault. Never should have rigged the tasers for a hundred thousand volts in the first place." Dean took a deep breath. The speech seemed to take a lot out of him. "Not your fault."

"Dean, I should have checked them out myself. It's my job to…" Sam's voice trailed off. Mikey knew what was supposed to come next. 'It's my job to look out for you.' It was Sam's personal theme song.

"I'm the older brother," Dean stated, leaning toward them. He glanced back at Mikey. "The oldest brother. That's my job." He closed his eyes as he leaned back toward the window. Conversation over.

Mikey spotted a thin pillow obviously taken from their last motel. He nudged Dean. "Here," he whispered, handing the pillow over the seat. Dean accepted it with a nod, stuffed it between his head and the window.

"Sam?" Mikey whispered, hoping Dean really was going to sleep now. "You can keep biting my head off if you want to."

Sam shook his head as he stared steadfastly ahead. Mikey sat back, choosing to sit directly behind Dean, drawing comfort from being able to see the gentle movements of his brother's breathing. From this angle he could see Sam in the rearview mirror, and he could have sworn he saw something wet in Sam's eyes. But when he looked again, it was gone.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Sammy," Mikey tapped his lanky brother's shoulder, "time to switch drivers."

Leaning over the front seat, Mikey could see Sam's forehead crinkle. "What for? I'm fine."

Mikey shook his wrist, showing off his watch. "You've been driving for four hours. My turn."

"Rules of the road," Dean said, staring out the windshield. "I could use a good stretch anyway." He pointed ahead. "There."

Mikey felt the big car slow as Sam took his foot off the gas. "There?" Sam asked. "You sure?"

"If you don't want to, that's fine," Dean replied softly. Mikey knew they would stop there, though. Even if it was along the lines of Sam's worst nightmare. He heard another low groan from Sam as the Impala exited to follow directions on the billboard.

"We are, uh, going in. Right?" Mikey asked, leaning as close as he could get to Dean.

"Duh," Dean said. His eyes were fully open now and he seemed excited. Well, who wouldn't be? Dean lifted a shoulder to nudge Mikey's hand, a broad grin on his pale face. Mikey grasped his big brother's shoulder, relieved when he felt the firm muscles there. Dean seemed to be wasting away before his eyes, so it was good to hold onto something solid and firm. At that moment Mikey thought if he could just hold on to his brother's shoulder like this, then there was no force on Earth that could take Dean. But then, they really weren't worried about earthly forces, were they?

Sam parked the Impala as close as he could get to the front entrance of Bikini Bombshell Mud Wrestling House. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, silencing the engine.

"Come on, Sammy. Live a little," Dean grinned, opening his door. Mikey figured Dean did that on purpose, throwing in a little extra guilt to get his way. Not that he really needed to at this point. He made sure to get out faster than Dean so he could be the hovering hands, ready to catch his brother in case of collapse. Dean moved slow and stiff, nothing close to his normal strong, fluid movements. He slipped once on the wet pavement, but Mikey caught him.

"Got an idea," Dean whispered, holding on to Mikey's arm. "Call Sammy over here."

"Hey, Sam!" Mikey held Dean up. He wasn't getting lighter, was he?

Sam rushed over. Dean held out his free arm for Sam to grasp. "Perfect," he told them, "now take me inside. Let's see what this dying thing is worth."

Sam shot Mikey a look. Mikey shrugged. He had no idea what Dean meant either. Dean allowed - heck, expected – them to take him inside. As he handed his ID over to the bouncer at the door, Dean grabbed the guy by the collar to whisper in his ear. Mikey tried to hear what was said, but the music inside was too loud.

The bouncer frowned after listening to Dean. He was a large man, dark complexion, even his muscles had muscles. Mikey supposed that was necessary in his line of work. The bouncer stepped back to give Dean a really long, thorough look. Dean slipped slightly in Mikey's grasp and he had to readjust his grip to lift Dean back up.

"Sorry," Mikey muttered as Sam shot him a nasty look.

"Come on, I'll seat you myself," the bouncer said, leading them close to the mud wrestling pits. Dean flashed Sam a winning smile behind the bouncer's back and Mikey had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. By the time they reached the table, Mikey could tell he and Sam really were supporting most of Dean's weight. He wondered how long they would be able to stay. Dean slumped in the hard backed chair, a weak smile on his face.

"When does it start?" Sam asked, his eyes fixed on Dean.

"Give me about fifteen minutes," the bouncer said, leaving the table after tapping it lightly with his knuckles.

Sam was holding Dean up in the chair. After a few minutes, he moved his chair around behind Dean.

"Don't Sammy," Dean warned, holding up a hand. "Not unless you're gonna buy me dinner first." He waved Sam back over beside him.

"But, Dean…" Mikey heard Sam's voice break, which he tried to cover with a quick cough.

"I promise I'll let you know when I get too tired," Dean said, patting Sam's arm. "Now relax. I think they're going to put on a nice show." He wrapped his arms over his chest with a shiver.

Mikey shrugged out of his jacket. "It's pretty warm in here," he said. "Here, hold this for me." He draped his jacket over Dean.

"Yeah, it is," Sam added, taking the hint. His jacket went over Dean's legs.

Dean did not reply or acknowledge the extra layers. Mikey suspected it was because his brother really was cold. He wondered if stopping was a mistake. Sam obviously thought so. Maybe the sooner they got to that specialist the better. Then again, in case it didn't matter, Dean deserved to have a few hours to do whatever he wanted, Sam's paranoia be damned.

Mikey settled into his chair, which must have been designed by someone who mastered in medieval torture, for the show. It started maybe ten minutes later and the sign was no lie. They were certainly bombshells in bikinis. For the next twenty minutes Mikey actually forgot his brother sitting next to him was dying. They traded quips and wrestling critiques of the girls, as well as observations on how much better bikinis looked covered with slick mud. Even Sam joined in at some point, placing a five dollar bet on the brunette, which both Mikey and Dean covered. Sam lost ten bucks. You don't bet against a redhead. Period.

When the match was over, Mikey looked triumphantly at Dean. This was a great idea! But Dean's eyes were closed and he was slumped over halfway down in his chair.

"Maybe we should go," Mikey suggested in the startling quiet that followed the match.

Sam looked at him with arched brows, until his eyes rested on Dean. "Oh, shit. Dean?"

Dean struggled to open his eyes. "Alive. Still alive," he mumbled, struggling to sit up straight.

"Match is over," Mikey said, standing. He tossed Sam his jacket and put his own back on before lifting Dean to his feet.

"Maybe we should carry him?" Sam whispered.

Mikey shook his head. He would not subject Dean to that particular indignity, especially in front of the busty bikini babes who were watching.

"Bye!" The girls called out, waving.

Dean managed a bright smile and wave as Mikey and Sam helped him away from the table.

"Everything all right?" The bouncer approached as they tried to leave.

"Fine, fine," Sam said, waving the man away. "We just got a little tired is all."

The bouncer rushed ahead of them to hold the door open. "Anytime you all want to come back, it's still no charge!" He called as they made their way to the car.

"No charge?" Sam asked as he sat Dean in the passenger seat.

"Twenty dollar cover charge," Dean replied weakly. "Like I was gonna pay that."

"What did you tell him?" Sam demanded, leaning over Dean.

Dean chuckled. "The truth. I'm dying and I wanted to see women wrestle in mud just once before I kicked the bucket."

Sam glared at their brother as he slammed the door.

"Hey! Watch the door!" Dean shouted, recovering some of his old voice.

Sam fumed as he walked around the car.

"Sam," Mikey called out, running around the car to grab Sam by the arm. "Don't do this," he pleaded.

"Do what?" Sam shook off his hand with a furious glare.

"Do you really want to be mad at him right now? Is this what you want to remember?" Mikey heard the words coming out of his mouth and wondered who put them there. This did not sound like him, what the hell was he doing? Well, whatever he was doing, it seemed to be working because Sam stopped, leaned on the hood. Mikey moved closer, turned his head away so Dean would not see him talking. He always suspected Dean could read lips and now was not the time to find out. "I'm scared too, Sam. But if your specialist can't help him, then this is all he's got."

Sam did not spare him a look as he pushed off the hood to go open the driver's door. Dean's door. It did not matter that they all drove the car, practically lived in it, it was still Dean's car. Always would be. Mikey headed for the backseat before he remembered. He went back to the driver's side.

Mikey tapped on the glass. "My turn!" he shouted at Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes as he climbed out. "Right. Forgot." Mikey doubted it, but said nothing. He said enough already.

They were only a few miles down the road when Mikey heard Dean chuckle. "That was awesome." He looked over at big brother. Dean was nestled into the pillow against the window again, eyes closed, a broad smile covering his face. One of Sam's arms was draped over the seat, a hand firmly on Dean's chest.

Mikey started to wonder if Sam was showing affection or checking for breathing and a beating heart, but he did not like where those thoughts took him. Instead he chose to focus on mud wrestling. "Gotta love redheads," he said.

Dean chuckled again, unmoving. "Should have upped the bet."

"Next time," Sam said softly. "Next time."

They were on the road long enough to switch drivers again and watch the sun sink below the horizon. Dean's breathing was becoming ragged.

"Sam? Maybe we should stop for the night?" Mikey suggested softly, his hand snaking down to rest on Dean's chest.

"What's wrong? Is he all right?" Sam demanded, his head turning rapidly from the road to Dean and back again.

"Heart still beating, but his breathing sounds strange." Mikey tried listening closer.

Dean jerked under his hands. "Dude, I'm right here." He sat up. "Quit talking about me like that."

He heard a sigh of relief from Sam. "Well, I'm tired," Mikey said, pulling his hand back. "Let's look for a decent place to stop."

"There's a town about ten miles ahead," Sam squinted at a roadsign. "Decent place, huh?"

It was the first thing he said to Mikey that did not revolve around Dean since leaving the mud wrestling place.

"Yeah. I'm sick of smelly rooms," Mikey stated, knowing Sam would see through it. He wanted to stay in a decent place for a change, for Dean. Really, the occasional stop and a nice room were the absolute least they could do.

"Not too expensive," Dean warned. "We don't have an endless supply of money."

Sam drove halfway through town before he pulled in to a roadside hotel. It looked fairly decent. Sam shot Mikey a look to go check them in. Mikey jumped out of the car and headed for the front office. He got them a ground level room with a two beds – king and a single. They drove around to the room together and Mikey carried most of their stuff inside. One of the hazards of being a linebacker, he supposed. He shuffled along behind with their gear as Sam helped Dean to the room.

"Anybody hungry?" Mikey asked, trying to remember when they ate last.

"Not me," Dean said, collapsing into the large bed. He allowed Sam to take off his shoes, another sign of just how sick he was.

Sam shook his head. "Me either." He looked almost as tired as Dean.

Mikey watched them for a moment, wondering if Sam would survive losing Dean. It bothered him that these kinds of thoughts were becoming commonplace for him, when a week ago it would have been the furthest thing from his mind. Mikey wondered how it would feel to lose both his brothers. He tried to shake off the thought, but it clung in his head like an ugly parasite, feeding off his fears.

"Who wants the bathroom first?" he asked.

"Go ahead," Sam told him, sinking into a chair at the table, pulling out his laptop. Mikey suspected Sam was waiting for Dean to fall asleep first, so there would be no protest when Sam crawled into bed. He guessed Sam would need to wait about thirty seconds, forty tops. But when he came out of the bathroom, Sam was still in the same spot, staring intently at the computer screen.

Mikey walked around to look over Sam's shoulder. "What's up?" He managed to catch the headline of the article Sam was reading, 'Roy Le Grange: Faith Healer or Stealer?', before the laptop was snapped shut. "You're not researching a hunt, are you?" Surely not at a time like this!

"Uh, no. No, nothing like that," Sam said quickly, eyes darting to Dean.

"Then what were you doing?" Mikey demanded.

"Trying to sleep," Dean's voice croaked from the bed. "You two shut the hell up already."

Mikey glared at Sam but kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. He could not help the fact his feet were heavy with anger as he stomped over to the single bed. His weight made the springs groan in protest.

"Damn, Mikey," Dean's voice was too weak, but the tone was normal, "lay off the fries."

Mikey glared at Sam until his older brother retreated into the bathroom. Again Mikey fell asleep to the sounds of running water but this time it was accompanied by Dean's labored breathing.

tbc...

Okay, I figure the guys have time to make at least one more stop before they get to Roy's. Where will Dean want to go next? I need some ideas!!


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, not quite back on the road yet, but there were questions about what Sam's POV was during all this and if Mikey still felt left out. I hope this chapter goes a little way to answering those questions.

**Chapter 4**

Sam stared through the darkness at the far wall, unwilling to allow sleep to take its hold on him. He needed to stay awake, to savor every moment left of Dean's life. Even as he thought it, he heard a new hitch in his brother's snore. He told himself it was probably just his imagination, his fearful mind playing tricks on him. Even so, he pulled himself a little closer to Dean, until he could feel Dean's breathing through his own chest.

He knew Dean had been awake when he slipped into bed. They had shared a bed almost nightly until Sam was thirteen, but it felt strange now. Sam wanted, needed, to be able to check on Dean constantly. This seemed to be the best way. He wondered if he had spoken of it out loud if Dean would have protested, pushed him away. So much of that happened lately. A loud sigh escaped Sam's lips before he could pull it back. This new, improved Dean spoke for himself, took action, flirted with girls, never needed him. But Sam still needed Dean. He could feel his brother slipping away from him, bit by bit, day by day, and it scared him.

Mikey had hit a little to close to the truth during that little confrontation. Sam was scared, like he had never been scared before. When they were kids Sam and Dean had looked out for each other. Sam did the talking and Dean was always there to back him up, pull his ass out of the fire. No one, not even Mikey, knew how many bullies Sam had taunted. He did it on purpose, wanting Dean to pound the ever living crap out of them. The very first time Sam had not expected it, was just shooting his mouth off as usual, and Dean stood watching in utter shock while Sam took a couple of blows to the stomach. But when the asshole gave him a bloody nose, he looked to Dean for help. He saw something happen to his brother that day, like somebody flipped a switch. Dean's eyes narrowed and hardened, he had descended on the unsuspecting bully like Vengeance itself. Sam had to pull Dean off. Eventually. A couple of teachers tried, but could never get in between Dean and the bully. After that, no bully was safe. It took a few months for word to get around, but it did. Sam noticed that Dean's classmates were a little more courteous to the quiet kid after that, too.

Now, though, seeing how his brother's color blended with the white sheets, Sam wanted to hide away. There seemed no point in fighting against the injustices of the world now, not when such an injustice had been thrown right in their faces. What had they done wrong? Why did Dean deserve this? They saved the lives of two kids, and this was the thanks they got? This crusade of his to find and destroy Jessica's killer was killing Dean. Sam felt guilt stab through his heart into his gut, twisting his stomach into a hard rock. He could not have eaten tonight if he had tried, and was grateful Mikey had not pushed the issue. And what would his brothers say and do when they learned where he was taking them? He was desperate, that was certain. Not even Mom knew what he was up to, but that guy Joshua swore this was real. Okay, so Sam never met Joshua except for one call on the phone, and his so-called-Dad had the man call him in the first place, but that did not mean it would not work. All the first hand accounts he had read of Reverend LaGrange were very convincing. At this point, they needed a miracle and Sam was going to make damn sure Dean at least got the opportunity for one. If not? Well, he would deal, or not deal, with that later. Sam was leaning heavily toward 'not deal.'

He rested his chin on the top of Dean's head, enjoying the feel of soft hair and the warmth of his brother. He shut his eyes against all the odds they were facing, the deck that was stacked against them. Silently, in his heart, he prayed. He prayed that the miracle they needed would happen, that it would come.

As he drifted off to sleep, he realized Dean felt cold. Sam shifted his hand to the center of Dean's chest. It was still. Too still. Cold panic gripped him. "Dean?" he whispered, lifting up to see his brothers face. The eyes were open and glassy. There was no spark of life there. "Dean!" Sam sat up, shaking his brother's limp form. "Dean!" he screamed.

He felt something dig into his biceps. Sam looked, but there was nothing there. "Sam!" It sounded like Dean's voice, but his brother was laying lifeless next to him. "Sam!" He heard Dean calling him again. Sam shut his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again.

Mossy green eyes bored into him. "Dean?" he whispered, hardly daring to allow himself to believe this was reality.

The fingers digging into his arms relaxed. "You okay, Sam?" Dean whispered, shaking him.

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Sorry I woke you."

Dean laid back into the pillows, releasing Sam. "Vision or nightmare?"

Sam shook his head. He did not want to have this discussion.

"Vision or nightmare?" Dean demanded. "Mikey won't sleep through this crap forever, you know."

Sam winced. Having Mikey awake for this conversation would be worse. "Nightmare," he whispered.

"About me," Dean finished for him.

Sam nodded. "It's just not fair," he punched his pillow. "You never even," Sam broke off. Dean was a little sensitive on the subject of girls. "There's so just much you haven't done yet."

He expected a sour look after that, but Dean was smiling. "Christine was nice," he said. Sam felt his eyebrows climb. "Really nice."

Sam's jaw went slack. "No way. You didn't!" he hissed. Dean was still grinning. His eyebrows waggled. "You dog. And you didn't tell me?"

Dean shrugged. "Dude, I don't have to tell you everything." He rolled to face the wall. "Besides, it was bad timing."

Sam winced. How could he forget the night of Dean's big date was the same night the demon came for Jess? That pretty much chased everything else out of his mind. Sam sank into the bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, wondering what else Dean was keeping to himself because of 'bad timing.' His mind drifted back to Christine. One date? Could Dean be that charming or was Christine a slut and he never knew it? Sam had a few emails to send in the morning.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam leaned over to hear his brother better.

"Is it cold in here, isn't it?" Dean asked. Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder, it was shaking. The skin on his face was cold and clammy. Sam bit down on his lip. He slid back down under the covers and threw an arm over his brother. As he tried to fend off sleep and the nightmares it would bring, Sam noticed Dean relaxing against him.

"Sammy?"

"What, Dean?" The fact his eyes were closed came as a surprise.

"You're gonna have to look after Mikey, you know. That means you can't argue all the time." God, he sounded tired. "I hate it when you argue."

"Okay, Dean," Sam promised. "But just until you get better."

"I'll haunt your ass," Dean muttered.

"That's not funny, Dean." Sam was serious. That was really not funny. It ranked right up there with possessed airplanes and killer scarecrows on the Not Funny list.

"Come on. It was a little funny." Dean argued between breaths. "Right, Mikey?"

"A little funny," Mikey's voice drifted in the dark. Shit, how long had he been awake?

"Goes for you, too, Mikey," Dean said in the same breathless voice.

"Okay, Dean. Whatever you say." Mikey said. "Good night."

"Night, Mikey," Dean said.

"Night, Mikey," Sam said.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Mikey?"

"I knew about Christine." Mikey's voice mocked him in the dark. Sam tried to move to confront his little brother, but Dean's hand clamped around his wrist, holding him in place.

"He's taunting you," Dean whispered. Then, louder, "Mikey, knock it off. Go to sleep."

Sam heard deep chuckling from across the room. He started to twist out of Dean's grip, but he remembered the promise he just made a few seconds ago. With a sigh, Sam settled into his pillow. He felt Dean lean against him, pulling his arm tight over Dean's shoulders. Soon Dean's shivers stopped and his breathing evened out. He hoped they would make it to Nebraska tomorrow. Sam fell asleep to the sounds of Dean's soft breathing and Mikey's deep snores.

"Sam?" Someone was shaking his shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam blinked bleary eyes. Dean was still curled up against him, sound asleep. "Huh?" He looked up at Mikey.

"Sam, I'm going to grab some breakfast. What do you want?" Mikey asked.

Mikey was asking what he wanted? Sam tried to shake the fuzziness from his brain. This had to be another dream. "Coffee?"

"Duh. Food, Sam." Mikey sounded annoyed, but he did not look it. "Donuts? Bagels?"

"Uh, donuts," Sam said. That was usually something he and Mikey could agree on – donuts. Mikey grinned before heading out the door. What has gotten into that guy?

Sam carefully extricated himself from his big brother, who looked way too small right now. Even though he was considerably taller than Dean, by Sam's standards, he never thought of himself as bigger than Dean. There was something about his brother that towered over them all. And that something was going to leave a huge hole in his life.

Sam shook off the morbid thoughts, racing for the safety of the shower. When he stepped out of the bathroom, clean and shaved, Mikey returned with the coffee and donuts. Mikey stepped close to Dean's bed, looked at their sleeping brother, then came back to the table and helped himself to a donut.

"You don't want to wake him up?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Nah," Mikey shook his head. "Probably needs all the sleep he can get in a bed. The Impala isn't exactly comfortable." He took a bite of donut. "For sleeping," he mumbled through a full mouth.

"That's disgusting," Sam told him, wrinkling his nose.

Mikey grinned, chewing loudly.

"What put you in such a good mood, anyway?" Sam demanded, reaching for his coffee.

"Christine," he said before cramming the rest of the donut in his mouth.

Sam grimaced. "How's that?" He took the top off and blew on his coffee before taking a sip.

Mikey chuckled. "Just nice to know I knew something you didn't know first," he said, beaming.

"Huh?" Sam eyed him warily over the coffee cup.

"Well," Mikey squirmed, "it's just, you and Dean have always been so close, you know?" He reached for another donut. "You knew everything about him first. You stuck up for him, called the parents of the kids at school who gave him a hard time, heck, you even talked to some of his college professors before you'd let him sign up for their classes!"

"So?" This bothered Mikey? Why would any of that bother Mikey?

"So, it was nice to know something first for a change," Mikey grinned triumphantly.

"Why?" Sam demanded, wounded by the fact Dean had confided in Mikey and not him.

Mikey frowned at Sam, his eyes narrowed. "He's my brother, too, you know. It was just nice not to be the one left out. For a change." He stood and walked over to his duffle.

Sam watched, stunned, as Mikey gathered his things for a shower. Mikey stalked past, not meeting Sam's eyes. When the water started, he saw Dean stir in the bed.

"He does, you know," Dean said, running a hand over his head.

"Does what?" Sam asked, reaching for another donut.

Dean scowled at him as he shuffled over to the table. "He feels left out," he said simply. He accepted the donut Sam handed him. "I thought bringing him with us this summer would help with that," he said with a shrug.

"Wait a minute," Sam set down his coffee. "Mikey told you he feels left out? Left out of what? Hunting?"

The scowl returned to Dean's face. "No, stupid. Us."

Sam shook his head. Still wasn't getting it. "Us?"

"Not Us as in you and me; Us as in you, me and Mikey," Dean took a tentative bite of donut.

"Oh." Sam leaned back in the wood chair. "And Mikey feels left out."

Dean shrugged. "I think so. Sometimes. It's not always easy to balance you two, you know."

Sam stared at Dean. Balance him and Mikey? What the hell was that supposed to mean? And what was so difficult about it, other than the fact Mikey was a serious pain in the ass?

"You're both a royal pain in my ass," Dean continued. Sam started at the word choice. Who was the psychic one around here? "But you both mean well. And when you were younger, you two really got along well. Don't understand what happened to that." Dean shrugged. "I guess puberty really sucks."

"Be ready to hit the road soon?" Sam asked, trying desperately to change the subject.

"After a quick shower," Dean said. Sam knew he meant a spongebath from the edge of the tub, but he nodded anyway. "Think you and Mikey can wait on me?" he asked with a grin.

"I think we might manage," Sam promised.

tbc…

Still needing some roadtrip ideas. Some of the suggestions I've had so far: visit to Christine (rather out of the way, though), amusement park, strip club, bars, karaoke (which I don't see this version of Dean doing unless he was smashed), Grand Canyon, and a classic car show. Well????


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks so much for all the suggestions and feedback on Dean's next side-trip. Hope you aren't disappointed with what I've chosen! And I'm posting two at once. Ch5 & 6 kinda go together.

**Chapter 5**

Sam drummed his fingers on the dark metal of the Impala, waiting impatiently for the gas tank to fill. Dean would have to pick a car that drank gas the way an alcoholic did beer. Sam sighed, rubbing his fingers over the deep creases between his eyes and in his brow. Everyday since the electrocution had been, well, difficult.

"Psst! Sam!" Mikey moved stealthily around the car, which, if Sam had been in a better mood, would have made him laugh. For anyone as big as Mikey to try moving like some jungle cat was downright comical. "Ready for lunch?" Mikey's eyes shone.

Suspicious, Sam checked on the pump. "Dunno. Why?"

"Because I know where we need to go for lunch today," Mikey said in a hushed voice.

"Is it a secret?" Sam whispered back, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible.

Mikey pointed down the street. Sam followed the broad finger to a restaurant he normally would never give a second glance. Then he realized what Mikey meant. The parking lot was filled with classic cars. He met Mikey's eyes, which danced with anticipation.

"I guess we could use a little break from the drive," Sam said as a grin spread over Mikey's face. Without a word, Mikey grabbed his arm and gave it a little squeeze before climbing back in the car. Sam stared after his little brother, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time that day what in the world had gotten into him.

The gas pump went off with a loud click. Sam dragged his eyes to the pump to see that the tank was, finally, full. He replaced the nozzle before running both hands through his hair, taking this rare opportunity of being alone to gather himself. A deep breath and a dozen jumbled thoughts later, he was ready to drive up the street.

"Who's ready for lunch?" Sam asked, trying to sound cheerful as he started the car. Dean grunted noncommittally as Mikey called out "I can eat."

"Ever passed up a meal, Mikey?" Sam asked with a grin in the rearview mirror. Mikey stuck his tongue out. Sam drove to the place Mikey pointed out, hoping the food would be fairly decent. It occurred to him if a classic car club chose to meet there, the food probably was decent. Sam pulled into the parking lot and chose a spot between a an old Corvette and an even older pickup.

"Nice," Dean nodded at the vette as he stepped out carefully. He walked around it, nodding. "Too bad we can't check under the hood," he sighed.

"If you like," a voice bellowed from behind. Sam spun around. An older guy in jeans and a nice golf shirt walked up to them. "Hang on, I'll pop the hood." With a jangle of keys, he opened the door. When the hood bounced up, Dean slid around the front of the car. Sam could not see what his brother was doing, but the hood was soon up and Dean leaning inside the engine compartment.

Sam smiled to himself. This was a good idea, he had to admit. Dean was most comfortable under the hood of a car. He listened to the talk of horsepower and carburetors and fuel injection and something about a cam-whatzis. When he finally saw Dean lean heavily on the car, his knuckles white with the exertion of keeping himself upright, Sam stepped forward.

"Hate to break this up, but we haven't eaten yet," Sam stepped forward to grab Dean by the elbow.

"Uh, yeah, sure," the man said. "We'll be here for a while. The meeting starts in a few minutes. You coming?" he asked Dean.

Dean shook his head. "Just here for lunch."

"Well, I'd sure like to see what you got under there," he jerked his head at the Impala.

Dean grinned. "Maybe after we eat. My brothers get kinda bitchy when they're hungry," he called over his shoulder as Sam and Mikey led him away.

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Bitchy, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Truth hurts, kiddo."

Sam could not stifle the chuckle in his throat, earning him a sharp look from Mikey. Sam shrugged. He knew better than to challenge Dean on word choice, and Mikey should, too. They were seated fairly quickly, which Sam was grateful for. Dean seemed more pale today than yesterday and Sam had to resist the urge to place a hand on his brother's chest. Just to check.

"You all right?" he whispered after they were seated.

Dean scowled at him. "Just hungry," he muttered, hiding behind a menu. Sam sighed, catching a look from Mikey. He expected a nasty look, but Mikey's eyes shifted to Dean and back, his eyebrows up in question. Sam did not know what to make of it, so he shrugged. Mikey's head shook as he grabbed another menu.

"Can I take your drink order?" Their waitress was a petite, perky blonde.

Sam felt himself smile. "Mikey? Is it your turn to drive?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Beer for me," Sam ordered.

"Lemonade," Mikey said.

She looked at Dean for his drink order. Dean's menu was up, hiding his face. Sam frowned, what the hell was this? He and Mikey exchanged a look and the understanding dawned on both of them at the same time. Sam kicked Mikey under the table.

"And, um, a lemonade for him, too," Mikey motioned to Dean. Sam gave his baby brother a short nod of thanks before glancing over the menu. Well, a burger was usually safe, he hoped.

"What do you think you're going to have," Sam asked conversationally as he set the menu aside.

"I think I'll try the steak and potato plate, with an extra potato," Mikey said, turning to Dean. "How 'bout you?"

Dean sighed, tossing the menu in the middle of the table. "Nothing sounds good," he complained.

"I'm just ordering a burger," Sam said. "No big loss if you don't finish a burger."

"Fine." Dean looked around. "So did we stop here for lunch or the free car show?"

"Car show," Mikey and Sam answered in unison.

Dean chuckled. "Nice. So you two were in on this together, huh?" He rolled his eyes, but it was more in amusement than irritation if the grin on his face was anything to go by.

The perky waitress returned with their drinks. Sam noticed she tried to make eye contact with Dean, but he was fascinated by the checkered tablecloth. Mikey spoke up and ordered first. When Dean continued to be mesmerized by red and white checks, Sam ordered for the both of them. He felt like screaming, "Don't do this, Dean! Have hope! Have a little faith!" Instead he sipped his beer quietly.

Sam glanced up in time to see Mikey slap Dean in the shoulder. His mouth was open to say something nasty when Dean's gaze ripped from the tablecloth to Mikey.

"What?" Dean hissed, glowering.

"Stop that," Mikey growled. "Just because you're sick-"

"Dying," Dean interrupted.

"Doesn't mean," Mikey continued as if Dean had not spoken, "that you can get away with that crap anymore. So just stop it." Mikey's cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes had that look he got right before a big game. Sam eyes darted over his beer between Mikey and Dean, wishing a hole in the floor would open up and allow him to drop right through.

Dean glared back. Sam waited for one of them to look away. When neither did, he cleared his throat. Two sets of hostile eyes were leveled at him now. "Anyone want to check out the parking lot while we wait for the food?"

"Not me," Mikey sat back. His younger brother was usually pretty easy going, but when Mikey got in a surly mood, look out.

"Go ahead," Dean said with a sigh.

"Well, I would, but," Sam chewed his lower lip, "I don't really know that much about cars."

"After we eat," Dean promised, glancing over at Mikey.

"You never did tell me which school you picked," Dean said softly.

Mikey's brows drew together. "What?"

"What year was that truck we parked next to? It looked old." Sam directed the question at Dean.

"Fifty-three. What school, Mikey?" Dean repeated.

"Nice paint job, wasn't it?" Sam asked, setting down his beer.

Dean's eyes shifted between them. "Oh. I see." A deep frown creased his face as he faced Mikey again. "You both lied to me." He stood, leaning on the back of his chair a moment for support.

As Dean shuffled off, he grabbed a waitress by the arm. "Restroom?" She pointed to the back of the restaurant. He nodded and headed that way.

"Crap." Sam reached for his beer. He was definitely going to need another. Maybe two more.

"You told him I was going?" Mikey demanded, slamming a hand down on the table.

"I said you'd made your decision," Sam replied with a scowl, draining half the glass. "What did you tell him?" He looked for their perky waitress. Of course, she was no where to be seen when another beer was needed.

Mikey groaned. "That I was considering my options." He banged his head a few times against the table. "No wonder he thought that." Mikey looked the way Dean had gone. "Should one of us follow him?"

Sam checked his watch. "Not yet. Let's give him a few minutes alone. If he's not back in five or ten minutes, we'll go after him."

"Five," Mikey agreed. One eyebrow jumped up. "I'm surprised you didn't give me up, Sam."

"None of my business," Sam said with a shrug.

"Since when?" Mikey demanded.

"Since…" Well, that was a good question, wasn't it? Sam pondered it while he searched for their waitress. When had anything involving his brothers not been his business? "Since it came between you and Dean." The words were out of his mouth before they filtered through his brain, but it was true.

Mikey's thick fingers drummed on the table surface as his dark eyes studied Sam. Sam felt like a specimen under the microscope. Where the hell was that waitress?

"Time?" Mikey asked.

"Uh, four minutes?" Sam said, checking his watch.

"Screw it, I'm going." Mikey headed away from the table. Sam considered following, but this was between them.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't think I've used Dean's POV yet. Maybe it's about time.

**Chapter 6**

Dean splashed cold water on his face, one hand gripping the sink. He stared at his reflection. "Traitor," he whispered to his pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes. He thought the man at the next sink gave him a funny look, but he didn't care.

What the hell was up with Mikey? That idiot! Three full football scholarships, to good schools, and he didn't take one? There were about four or five partial scholarship offers too, he knew. He should have stayed on top of it, watched Mikey sign and mail one of them. Damn it!

"Dean?"

Speak of the devil…

"What?" he growled, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. And Sam? Oh, that big bastard was not getting away with this, either. They were both on his shit list, Mikey was just closer to the top.

"Dean, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Mikey said, approaching slowly.

He did not bother to look over. Dean could imagine the placating look on Mikey's face, and he was too angry to allow baby brother angst to settle him down. "Didn't tell me at all," he had to force the words out as each one lodged in his throat.

"Dean?" He felt Mikey come closer. Dean shut his eyes so he could not see Mikey in the mirror. "I never really wanted to go to college. I like to play ball, but I know I can't go pro."

"Not the point," Dean muttered.

"It is for me," Mikey said. Dean felt a meaty hand on his shoulder. "Before all this stuff happened with Sam, I figured…"

Dean cracked his eyes open. Mikey was staring at him in the mirror. "You figured what?"

Mikey shrugged. "I figured I'd work in the shop with you." His hand fell off Dean's shoulder and Mikey looked away, turning back with a deep breath. "That way you could handle the business part, and the cars, and I could help with the customers. I'm pretty good with people, you know. Okay, not as good as Sam, but pretty good. And I know I'm not as good with cars as you are, but I can do tune-ups and rotate tires. You know, the simple stuff."

Dean sighed. "Mikey…"

"But I'll bet I could catch on to some of the harder stuff, if you helped me." Mikey's eyes were pleading with him. Damn it.

"Mikey," Dean turned around to face him. "You should have just told me you didn't want to go to college."

"I tried," Mikey's eyes dropped. "But you were so excited for me. I didn't want to disappoint you."

Dean popped him in the shoulder. "Stop that."

Mikey looked up with a small grin. "Yeah?"

Dean threw an arm around his baby brother's shoulders. "Yeah. Now let's get out of here before people start to talk. Say, did I ever tell you the one about the farmer's daughter and the traveling salesman?"

Mikey chuckled as they left the restroom. When did his baby brother's voice get so deep? "Yeah, I think you did."

"And a goat?" Dean asked, giving Mikey's shoulder a squeeze to let him know there were no hard feelings. Life was too short to hold grudges. Well, his life was anyway.

"Now that sounds disgusting," Mikey said, but there was laughter in his deep voice.

Dean glanced around at the fairly nice restaurant they were in. "Yeah. Maybe I'll tell it to you later."

"Tell him what later?" Sam's voice hit him out of nowhere. Dean looked down. Oh, were they at the table already?

Dean sank into his chair. "The one about the farmer's daughter, traveling salesman and a goat."

Sam's nose wrinkled. "Later. Please, tell it to him later."

Mikey looked interested now. "That good huh?"

Dean just grinned. Then some of his conversation with Mikey came back to him. "Sam, did you know Mikey doesn't think he's good enough to go pro?" He was freaking brilliant. Sic Sam on Mikey. Perfect!

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, staring down Mikey. "Who the hell told you that?"

Yup, it was working perfectly. And if Mikey was foolish enough to name names, Dean could guess certain parents would be receiving a nasty phone call from older brother Sammy. Then an idea occurred to Dean, one that had been lurking around the edges of his thoughts since waking from his electrocution. If he could get Sam and Mikey to focus the energy they usually used on him on each other, then his brothers just might be able to continue this revenge mission of Sam's without killing each other. This was a good start, but Dean knew it would take more.

"Uh, nobody," Mikey said uncertainly. Oh, Mikey was smarter than Dean had been giving him credit for. The kid should definitely go to college. Oh, well. Mikey shrugged. "If I can't go pro, then there's no reason to play in college."

"And what makes you think you can't go pro?" Sam demanded. Dean recognized that tone. Mikey would have to come up with a pretty damned convincing answer or Sam would dog him until the day he… Dean refused to finish that thought. One person dying in the family at a time.

That cute waitress who made Dean's legs feel like jello chose that exact moment to deliver their lunch. Dean sighed. He wanted to hear that answer. As she placed his plate in front of him, the waitress leaned way over until he was forced to look at her. She smiled. He felt his heart lodge in his throat, and hadn't his poor heart been through enough? Dean forced a smile back, trying to think of Christine. After she left, he noticed an extra napkin sticking out from under his plate. Dean pulled it out and unfolded it. 'Tanya 555-0515'

When he looked up, Sam was chuckling at him. "Told you I wasn't doing it," Sam said, lifting his burger.

"Mikey," Dean said, shooting Sam a glare, "you were saying?"

"Right," Sam set his burger back down, uneaten. "Mikey, why don't you think you can go pro? All those colleges who offered you scholarships think you can." Dean could nearly pinpoint the exact word Sam shifted into almost-lawyer-mode. He needed to go back to school, when this whole revenge thing was over. Sam was going to make a great attorney, or judge. Yeah, he could see Sam as a judge.

Mikey stuffed a huge forkful of baked potato in his mouth and mumbled something around it. Sam shook his head. "Didn't work when you were ten either, Mikey. Just swallow and tell us."

When Mikey's shoulders slumped, Dean knew Sam had him. He took a big bite of burger while he waited. Whoa – the burgers here were good!

"I didn't say I wasn't good enough to go pro, I said I couldn't go pro," Mikey told them, concentrating on cutting his steak.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. "Come again?" Dean asked.

Mikey looked up. "People get hurt in the pros. And in college. I've talked to a couple of guys who took some bad blows and can barely walk." He tapped his fork on the plate, creating an annoying noise. "Read about one guy who was paralyzed."

"And you don't want to be one of those guys," Dean said with a nod. That was understandable. But still – a full ride?

"No, I could live with that," Mikey said, looking shocked. "What I can't live with is doing that to somebody."

Dean stared back in shock as Mikey started in on the steak. When he looked back at Sam, his younger brother's mouth was doubling as a fly trap.

"Sam, stuff some burger in there before the flies get in," Dean snapped, lifting his own burger. Besides, the food was damned good. They exchanged another look, one that said he and Sam would discuss this later. Dean rolled his eyes, chewing one heck of a succulent burger. Damn shame he would probably not be able to come back here. Good burgers and nice old cars, this could have been one of his favorite places. But Dean had a feeling that Nebraska would be his last stop.

They ate their meal in silence until somebody shouted, "Who brought the Impala?"

Mikey sprang to his feet, pointing at Dean from behind. Dean scowled up at him. "Sit your ass down, Mikey!"

"Uh, Mikey?" Sam waved, trying to get their youngest brother's attention, "Maybe you should, uh?" He pointed to the chair.

"Hey man!" Three guys rushed through the restaurant. "You own that cherry Impala out there?"

Dean nodded, wiping his mouth off on the napkin with the phone number. "Want a look?" he asked. Now he could talk cars. From now til Doomsday he could talk cars. He held out a hand and Sam slapped the keys into it. "Totally original," he bragged as they made their way into the parking lot. Heavy footsteps told him that Mikey was following. He wondered briefly if it was Sam's doing. Freaking mother hen.

Dean popped the hood and let the guys drool over his baby. Mikey stood close by, probably in case he collapsed. Dean tried to hide his irritation, mainly because he knew it was necessary. Hell, he could drop dead of a heart attack any second. So what good would it do for Mikey to be there? He considered telling Mikey exactly that, until he turned around.

Mikey was watching him talk cars with a funny look on his face. It was like his brother was trying to memorize this moment. That was when Dean understood that Mikey did not have the same hope as Sam. Mikey understood what was going to happen just as he did. When Mikey caught him looking, his face lit up with a grin.

"So, do we get to check out yours, too?" Mikey asked the guys.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone join?" Sam asked as he walked up. Dean assumed Sam took so long because he was paying the bill.

"They with you?" One of the club members asked, eyeing Sam and Mikey warily.

"Yeah, they're my brothers," Dean answered, unable to restrain the grin on his face. "We're on a road trip."

One of the guys leaned in close to Dean as they walked over to a Bellaire. "Kinda – big – aren't they?"

Dean glared back. "You got a problem with that?"

"No. No, no, no," he held his hands up with a strained smile. "No problem. Want to see the engine?"

"Let's go. We don't have all night," Dean snapped, not too happy with this particular individual. Now he knew for sure he was dying, otherwise this dude would be lying on the freaking pavement unconscious. He glanced back. Both Sam and Mikey were following closely, chatting with the other two guys. He knew Sam was pretending to be interested, but Mikey appeared to be caught up in a conversation about stock versus aftermarket parts.

He managed to check out several classic cars before his eyelids were too heavy to hold open. All in all it was fun. Dean climbed into the passenger seat with waves goodbye to the car club members still hanging around. He noticed Sam waited until they were out of sight before handing him the stolen motel pillow, which he folded over and stuffed between his head and the window. He fell asleep to the sounds of the road and Zepplin.

When he opened his eyes it was dark out and Sam was driving. "Where are we?" he asked, sitting up.

"Nebraska," Sam answered, glancing at him. "How you feeling?"

"Same," Dean answered noncommittally. The truth was he was tired, really damned tired. Each time he woke up he felt like he just finished running a marathon, and he just freaking hurt. His hands and feet tingled painfully and his chest felt like it was in a vise. Not that he would ever admit that, of course. He was supposed to be taking pain medication, but that made his brain fuzzy, so he tried to just take those when they all went to bed. At least he could sleep through the night that way.

Sometimes in the car he pretended to sleep so he would not have to participate in any conversation. Sam and Mikey seemed starved for conversation lately, anything to fill the silence. Silence was not death, but that was how they were treating it. Dean had spent much of his life silent, so it did not bother him.

"You sure?" Sam asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Yes, Sam. I'm sure." Okay, irritability came with the hurts-like-hell-and-I'm-dying package. Deal with it.

"How much farther to this specialist of yours?" Dean asked. This looked like a small town.

"We're here," Sam told him.

"Here?" Mikey asked from the back, his voice so loud Dean cringed. "What kind of specialist is in a podunk town like this?"

"We can't see anyone tonight," Sam said, ignoring Mikey. "We'd better find someplace to stay. How about some drive-thru?"

They picked up some lousy burgers and fries before checking into a motel. After that lunch, Dean could not stomach to look at the imitation burger and just munched on the fries. He shucked his boots before crawling into bed.

"Dean? Aren't you going to change first?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Nope. Warmer this way," Dean admitted, pulling up the comforter on the larger of the two beds. At the stricken look on Sam's face, he said, "Don't take too long getting ready for bed. You usually wake me up." He tried to sound irritable, but it faded at the relief that flooded Sam's face. He rolled his eyes at Mikey before turning away to face the wall.

He would like to be angry with Sam for sneaking into bed with him, constantly checking to be sure he was still breathing. But he understood how Sam felt. He waited until he heard Sam brushing his teeth.

"Mikey? Come here," he ordered, not turning over. Mikey's heavy footsteps were rushed.

"What's wrong, Dean?" he asked, dropping down on the floor beside the bed. His brother's eyes were filled with worry and fear.

"I need to talk to you about Sammy," he whispered.

Mikey's dark eyebrows drew together. "What about him?" His eyes darted to the bathroom door then back to Dean.

"When Sam has a vision, when he's awake, you gotta be sure to touch him. Grab his shoulder or something." Mikey better be paying attention, he thought, this was important stuff.

"Why?" Mikey breathed, eyes constantly darting away to the bathroom.

"I don't know why it works, but when you're touching him he can talk to you, tell you what's going on. And," Dean motioned him closer, "this is really important. No matter what, never, ever, act like the visions freak you out."

"Do they?" Mikey asked. "Freak you out?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Duh! "What do you think?" he growled. "Oh, and always buy the large bottle of extra strength aspirin. Sam eats them like candy." Better hurry, the water stopped. Wasn't there something else? "Oh, yeah. And this is really, really important. You listening Mikey?" Mikey nodded, eyes wide. "Only use Castrol in my baby. Not good to mix oil types."

"Knock it off, Dean," Sam's voice was strong and disapproving.

"Busted," Dean breathed, rolling his eyes at Mikey. When Mikey stood Dean noticed the kid's hands were shaking. Well, he didn't mean to freak his baby brother out, but it was necessary. Mikey was going to have to look after Sam now. Man, was that strange. A shiver ran through his body that was not related to how cold he felt.

"Dean?" A large, long hand was on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"If I were, we wouldn't be here, would we?" Dean snapped, instantly regretting his tone.

Sam's hand squeezed his shoulder. What the hell was that about? Why wasn't Sam pissed? The room lights were turned off as he heard Mikey go into the bathroom. He felt Sam's weight on the bed and braced himself for the snuggling indignity that was soon to come. It was not long before he felt Sam's long body wrap around him from behind and an arm reach around so Sam's hand could rest on his chest. Dean would protest, but he felt so much warmer this way. And he had an irrational conviction that as long as Sam were watching over him at night, he would not die in his sleep. He knew it was stupid, but it was reassuring.

tbc…

Next – The Specialist!!


	7. Chapter 7

This took a little longer to update than usual, because I had trouble finding the right voice for the meeting with Roy. But I think I found it!

**Chapter 7**

Where the hell were they? John paced his motel room, irritated through and through. Hadn't Joshua called Sam a couple of days ago? Where were they that it took so long to get to Nebraska?

-

* * *

Mikey checked his watch again. It was 7:30, and he had strict orders from Sam to wake them no later than eight. He sipped his coffee, watching his brothers sleep. Sam was in his usual position as of late, wrapped around Dean. It was weird, watching them sleep like this. Almost like invading something private.

Mikey checked his watch again. 7:32. He sighed. Today was the day they found out what specialist Sam had dragged them halfway across the country to see. He hoped it would be worth it. Even a few more months would be great, unless those months were filled with speeches like last night.

A shudder ran through his body at the thought of having to look after Sam when the visions struck. That was Dean's job. Besides, those visions really freaked him out and Sam knew it. How would he be able to suddenly pretend it didn't bother him? Dean had been doing it all along, he had come in half way. It was like missing the first part of a movie and constantly trying to figure out what you'd missed.

-

* * *

Roy smiled as he felt his wife's hands fuss with his shirt. "Sue Anne, it doesn't have to be perfect. People expect a blind man to miss a button every once in a while," he chuckled.

"Now, Roy. I want you to look nice," her smooth voice insisted. The only thing he really missed about having his sight was looking at his wife. As she fussed over him, he imagined her soft smile and that way she had of looking at him like he was the only man on Earth.

"Am I presentable yet?" he asked when her hands fell away. He did enjoy how she insisted on dressing him every morning. It was something private that only the two of them could share. Even if someone were watching, it was still an intimate moment that no one could invade.

"Yes. I think so," she leaned against his chest, hugging him. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Well, then, should we go check out today's crowd?" he asked.

Sue Anne sighed. "I think it should be Layla today. She's been coming everyday for six weeks."

"Now, now, Sue Anne," he patted her arm as she led him through their house to the control room, "we never know if someone at death's door may be arriving."

He waited until he could hear the shuffle of feet and breathing of the two men watching the cameras installed in the tent. "Gentlemen, anything promising?" he asked as Sue Anne sighed.

"Maybe, Boss," Larry, the larger of his assistants replied. Larry had a small voice in direct contrast with his size. Larry was one of the first people Roy had healed, back when this all started. In gratitude, Larry had insisted on staying on and helping with Roy's mission. "Got a kid here, looks like death warmed over. Second row. Another two kids with him, big guys. He looks upset, too, Reverend. Might have a nonbeliever this morning."

Roy smiled. "Nonbelievers make the best converts." He reached out until he felt Larry's shoulder. He patted it. "Remember, Larry?"

He felt Larry chuckle in his grip. "Yes, sir. I sure do."

"Sorry, Sue Anne. Layla still has some time. I'll heal her before it's too late, I promise." Part of the blind package had been the ability to see when someone's time had come. In the beginning he had panicked, not wanting or even liking this new extra sense. Then he discovered he could see into someone's heart as well, know that person better than they knew themselves. He could tell, from a word or a cough, if someone had good or evil in their heart, had suffered or lived an easy life, in short – if you deserved to live. That was when Roy understood that he had been blessed, given a gift by God beyond his mere life. He was to spread The Word, and God had given him two gifts to do it with – the power to see into a heart, and the power of Life.

Sue Anne sighed as she led him out of the house. Their two assistants flanked him, one on each side. Someone carried an umbrella, Roy could hear the soft drizzle of rain, smell the wet earth that squished beneath his feet. Everyday since God healed him from his cancer had been a gift, and Roy had not wasted them. Today would be no different.

They entered the tent from the back. Sue Anne led Roy to his place in the front, where he began his usual speech. Today, however, he was interrupted. And if he was not mistaken, it came from somewhere in the vicinity of the second row.

"Yeah, and to their wallets." It was said with a sneer, Roy was certain. But he heard something else in that voice, something that pulled at him.

"Careful what you say around blind men, son. We have sharp ears," he chuckled, hoping the boy would say something else. This one was harder to read than usual.

"Sorry," the word was barely a mumble.

He would have to coerce the boy into saying more, to be sure. "You got a name, son?"

He heard a throat cleared several times. "Dean."

The name hit him like a lightning bolt. In one syllable Roy heard pain, suffering, and a mission of epic proportions. He had no idea what this boy's mission was or could be, but he knew he had to help him. "Dean, why don't you come on up here?"

There was clapping, but Roy did not hear the sound of footsteps coming toward him. He thought he heard someone say something. "What was that?" he asked.

"I said, maybe you should pick someone else," Dean's voice finally carried over the crowd gathered today.

Roy smiled. "Son, I didn't pick you. God did." And Thank God He did, Roy thought. A cynic of this proportion would be a devout follower by sunset, converting everyone he saw. Now he heard the shuffling footsteps approaching, slow. The boy was worse than he thought. As Dean approached, Roy sensed the boy's time was nearly up, despite the strong soul he sensed there. It was good they had not waited any longer. Without healing Dean would be dead before dawn, Roy was certain.

Roy took a deep breath as Dean stood next to him. "Everyone, pray with me," Roy held up his hands. He felt the familiar presence that sent cold chills down his spine and meant the healing would soon commence. Roy did not understand why one of God's messengers would bring such cold with it, but he did not question the divine.

Roy moved his hand up until it rested on Dean's cheek. He felt Life flow into Dean. The boy shuddered under his hand. Roy maintained contact as long as he could. Someone this sick needed his healing touch for as long as Dean could tolerate it. He felt the boy slid away from him and heard it when the limp body hit the floor.

"Dean!" Two male voices shouted at once. Roy imagined he could see the two men with this young man. He wondered if they were relatives or friends. Probably relatives. Friends usually did not make such a trek. It was a mark of the sad state of their society, but it was true. Besides, friends were more likely to accept death as fate than family. Roy knew that from personal experience. Sue Anne had never given up on him.

"Dean!" The second time Roy heard the anguish in this boy's Life. It was as great as, if not greater than, Dean's. But Death did not linger in those tones, just as it no longer hung about Dean. He stepped back into the waiting hands of Sue Anne to give this family their time. He listened as they struggled to right Dean, pull him to his feet, and took the boy out of the tent. Roy thought he heard hospital or doctor mentioned as well. He smiled to himself. He knew it was a miracle but some people, even after watching it with their own eyes, still needed the proof.

-

* * *

Sam waited, nervously drumming on the exam table Dean was sitting on. Dean shot him a look, but his fingers refused to stop. His brother's color was good, healthy. That deathly gray pallor was gone, but that could be a trick. It could be his mind playing tricks on him, because he wanted this so much. Wanted? He needed it. Like he needed air.

Mikey hovered in the background, apparently unable to decide if he should say anything. When he sank back against the far wall, Sam knew Mikey was taking a page from Dean's book, choosing to say nothing and try to be invisible. Sam would worry about Mikey later, if he needed to. Right now Dean was his focus.

The doctor returned to the exam room with the sharp click of heels on linoleum. Sam watched her approach expectantly.

"Well, I've run every test I can think of, Mister Peavy, and I can not find anything wrong with your heart." Sam let out the breath he was holding. "There's not even any evidence there ever was anything wrong with your heart, which, at your age, is not surprising. Still, I guess you can't be too careful."

Sam watched Dean's head cock to one side and that interested look come over his face. He felt like doing cartwheels. His brother was back!

"How do you mean? Can't be too careful?" Dean's voice was measured, careful, but there was strength in it. Finally.

"Well, there was a guy brought in just this morning. He was young, like you, and just dropped dead of a massive heart attack. No history of heart problems or anything in the family. So it's probably best that your brothers made you get checked out." Sam had no doubt she threw in that last line because Dean had been so annoyed throughout all the tests, griping and complaining. Sam had enjoyed every second, because it not only meant Dean was feeling better, but he was acting like he should and not hiding and cowering from the world. So when Dean shot him a hard look, Sam was not sure how to take it. What was that supposed to mean?

"Thank you, doctor," Sam replied, absorbing Dean's look.

"You boys have a good day," she said, motioning to the door.

Sam followed Dean closely out of the doctor's office, barely aware of Mikey following them. Once they were in the car, Dean paused before starting the engine.

"What do you think?" Mikey asked from the backseat.

"I think we should check out the dead guy," Dean said, staring at the steering wheel.

Sam's head swiveled between his two brothers. "Why? What for?" he demanded.

"Sam," Dean's voice was patient, like he was talking to a child, "you really think it's coincidence?"

"Yes!" Why did Sam feel like he was defending himself? Wasn't Dean living proof – LIVING – that the miracle happened? "What's wrong with you two? Can't we just take this one and move on?"

Dean did not look up from the steering wheel as he started the car. Sam tried to find signs of the fact Dean would listen to him, drop this nonsense. It was as if Dean did not feel he deserved to live, so it could not be real, which infuriated Sam. Sam and Mikey spent years trying to build Dean's self-confidence, only to have one therapist after another shatter it. He was sick of other people shattering his hard work, and now it looked like Dean was doing it to himself. His teeth ground as they headed for the motel.

There was a black pickup in the motel parking lot. Oh, shit. Dad showing up now was the absolute last thing Sam needed to deal with. He was relieved when Dean did not notice the truck. As they went into their room, Sam wondered how he would be able to screen Dad off Dean. At least for a while until he could convince his older brother that this second chance not only was a miracle, but one that was deserved.

Once the door was closed, Dean stood to face Sam. "It felt wrong, Sam," he said in that same patient voice. "It was cold. It felt more like death than life."

Sam glared back. "What's wrong with believing in a miracle, Dean?" he demanded.

There was a knock on the door. Sam wondered if their quota was full or if he could score a second miracle in one day. When the knock turned into a pound on the door, he knew he was out of luck. Damn it!

tbc…

Next: Daddy Dearest (as promised to jjackles)


	8. Chapter 8

I wanted to post this before Thursday because, well, I'm kinda busy that night. Hope you like it! The promised visit from Dad:

**Chapter 8**

"Dean, I'll get it," Sam rushed toward the door, but Dean was closer. He blocked Sam's attempt to get to the door first.

"I got it," Dean informed his brother, confused. Hell, he wasn't broken. At least, not anymore. The person on the other side of the door might manage to break it down before giving him a chance to work the lock, though. He wondered who the hell would be pounding away like this, until he cracked the door open. "Oh, shit."

"Dean!" Dad's face lit up like freaking Christmas. Dean scowled, stepping back from those massive outstretched arms. Mom and Pop did not hug much, them actually touching him was a frigging rarity, and Dean preferred it that way.

"You touch me and I'll break your jaw," he growled, retreating to the center of their motel room. He could nearly feel Mikey's eyes boring into him as Sam stepped between him and that man. Dean subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest as he moved behind Sam.

"Hi, Dad," Sam sounded conversational, as though he met the guy for coffee or checkers regularly. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" John's arms dropped as his eyes widened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You call and tell me Dean is too sick for the doctors to help, and you think I won't come? How do you think Joshua knew to call you about LaGrange?"

Dean lashed out, punching Sam in the back of the shoulder. "What the hell, Sammy!" He got some satisfaction from the fact Sam had to stumble forward a few paces to regain his balance, but not enough. "You called Dad? Dad? Mikey had to call Mom and Pop because you called Dad?" Sam just reached Number Two on Dean's Shit List, right below Dad. Possessed airplanes were three and fugly scarecrows came in at a close four. He would have to check where that psycho psychiatrist spirit came in, and it surprised him that it was not higher. He might have to do a little rearranging later, but Dad and Sam were definitely neck and neck at the moment.

Sam turned around, his face apologetic. "I was desperate, Dean," he whispered, his eyes wide and too shiny. Dean steeled himself for the crap he knew was coming. "I had to do something. I had to try. No stone unturned, remember?"

Dean grimaced. That was Pop's favorite phrase: leave no stone unturned. Pop was usually referring to lost socks though, not miraculous solutions to death. Not fair throwing Pop in his face like that. His eyes flitted over John Winchester's face. The man looked distinctly uncomfortable. Dad clearly expected more of a friendly greeting, the bastard. Like that was going to happen. If the man had shown up yesterday, Dean was certain he would never have gone with Sam, not if he knew about Dad's involvement.

Dean cast his eyes to the floor, throwing up his emotional walls. The kind therapists talk about endlessly, try to chip away using emotional blackmail, document with tiny scribbles in fat files, then tell him are all his fault. Of course they were his fault, nobody put them up for him.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was one of the few he let in past those walls, but he did not feel like responding. He pushed the voice away, stepping backward. "Dean?" Better, the voice was softer this time, less coherent.

"Dean?" That voice was clear. It was Mikey. He felt Mikey's meaty fingers on his arm, giving him a little shake. Dean lifted his eyes to glare at his baby brother. "I think you should tell him," Mikey nodded at John, "what you just told us."

Dean scowled. He had no desire to waste any more air on that loser, but something about the way Mikey sounded urged him. At least Mikey believed him. "I was cold," he heard the words coming out of his mouth, hollow and strange. "It felt wrong. Like death." And if there was something he was pretty sure he understood now, it was how death felt.

John's face took on a look of interest. "And?"

"And we're going to look into it," Mikey said from over his shoulder. Dean grinned at the look of confusion on John's face.

"Who the hell is this kid?" John demanded, pointing.

"My brother," Dean said, stepping forward. He shoved Sam out of his way, as though the kid weighed nothing. Despite Sam's height, he was the lightest of the three brothers. Normally neither he nor Mikey took advantage of that fact, but Sam lost that particular benefit the second Dean learned Dad was behind all this. He pressed a finger into Dad's chest, growling, "Don't you ever raise your voice to him again."

He stood face to face with John Winchester, felt the man's breath on his skin, smelled old whiskey and cigarettes. Dean stared right into those dark eyes, daring the man to do something, anything, to give him an excuse. When he was seventeen Dean hit John hard enough to send the older man sprawling on the ground, and he longed to do it again.

John held up both hands. "Okay, easy now, son. Relax. I didn't come here for a fight." His dark eyes shot past Dean, probably looking at Sam to come fix this. Good luck there, Dean thought darkly, Sam was going to have a hell of a time digging himself out of this mess.

John looked past him again. Dean waved his hand in the man's face. "I'm right here," he snapped. "You're talking to me, not Sam." The sharp intake of air behind him told Dean exactly what Sam thought of that. Good. That's what happens when you're Number Two on Dean Peavy's Official Shit List.

John looked directly at him. Dean held his gaze, daring the bastard to try something. "At least let me help," he said.

Dean started, he had not expected that. "What?"

"I can help. This is what I do. You can go talk to Roy while I check some things out at the library," he offered. His dark eyes reminded Dean of Sam. So that's where the damn puppy dog look came from, only it didn't work nearly as well in a craggy old face like his.

"And I can check out the dead guy," Sam said softly from over his shoulder.

John looked over at Sam, the question plainly on his face, but he remained silent. Dean knew they were waiting on him, for him to make the decision.

Dean knew a peace offering when he heard it. His arms encircled his chest, holding tight while he weighed his options. He did not realize he was staring at the floor until he had to look up to respond to Dad. "Fine. We'll meet at the diner across the street for breakfast tomorrow, to exchange information."

"Okay, son," Dad's voice was soft and a small smile cracked his face. Dean did not return it. "I'll just show myself out." With far less fanfare than when he arrived, Dad left.

Dean stared at the closed door for several minutes, regulating his breathing. That little confrontation had upset him more than he realized.

"Dean?" Mikey's voice was nearly a whisper.

Dean pulled out his wallet. He removed a few twenties and slammed them down on the table. "That should be enough to get you two to the hospital and wherever the guy died. If it's not enough to get you back here, call me." Dean strode out of the room without a backward glance. Without looking at Sam.

----------

The throaty sound of the Impala motor soothed Dean's nerves. He thrust a Metallica tape into the cassette player and turned it all the way up. On the drive back to Roy's he was more nervous than when they came this morning. This morning he had no hope, he was merely humoring Sammy. The thought of his brother brought a scowl to his face. The lying bastard. Specialist, huh? One of these days Sam's "semantics" were going to catch up with him. Oh wait – that was today, wasn't it?

His phone went off again, vibrating under his thigh. Dean glanced at caller id, which registered 'Sam', before shoving it back under his leg. The boys could not have possibly gone to the hospital already, so there was nothing to discuss. Besides, Sam had been calling him every two minutes since he left for Roy's. Really, Sam should know better. No one could ignore people better than Dean. It was one of the reasons his brother had earned the nickname 'Sam the Interpreter.' When Dean had refused to talk to anyone else, Sam usually knew what he wanted to say. And when Sam didn't, his brother just made stuff up. It usually worked out and it was better than talking to people himself.

His phone went off again. This time caller id said 'Mikey.' Dean sighed as he turned down the music to a nondeafening level. He pressed the button to accept the call. "You at the hospital already?" he demanded, knowing they couldn't be.

"Waiting on the cab," Mikey's voice filtered through. "Dean, Sam's pretty upset. He's worried about you."

Dean chewed on his lip before answering. "Tell him he did his job, I'm not dying. And to quit calling me." He ended the call before he was tempted to say anything else.

Roy's house loomed just ahead. Dean parked next to the house, attempting to avoid any deep mud. There was still a light drizzle coming down, keeping everything in a damp mist. Dean debated on whether or not to take his cell with him. Sam's voice rang in his ears, _'What's the first rule?'_ He tossed it into his passenger seat before stepping out of the car.

The squelch of mud under his boots made him grimace, mostly because he hated the sound. It sounded too much like the death rattle of a Wendingo or a woman in white being taken by the children she drowned years ago. A shudder ran through him. Dean looked up at the house. The preacher's wife was standing on the front porch, watching him. She waved as he approached. He swallowed hard, realizing he was going to have to do this on his own. Sam was usually there to back him up, even if his brother only did some of the talking these days. He shook off the thought, making for the steps up to the porch.

"Dean, isn't it?" the woman asked, smiling brightly.

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly.

"It's Sue Anne," she told him. "I suppose you'd like to talk to Roy? He said you might be back."

Dean's eyebrows arched. "Did he? Why?"

Sue Anne shrugged. "No idea. Roy just knows these things. Come on," she took him by the arm and led him into the house. "Be sure to wipe your boots off there," she pointed to a heavily soiled welcome mat. Obviously Dean was not the only person who dropped by today.

Dean followed placidly into a large parlor where Roy sat next to a window. "I just love the rain," he said as Dean and Sue Anne approached. "It washes everything clean, makes everything new." He smiled in Dean's direction. "Who did you bring, Sue Anne?"

"It's Dean, dear," she sat, taking her seat next to her husband.

"How you feeling, son?" he asked. Dean heard the tones of concern. Some people could fake that, but he thought himself something of an expert on detecting those false tones. He had plenty of experience with that from teachers, therapists, and relatives. Roy sounded sincere.

"Fine. Great." Dean took a deep breath. How could he ask? Would they tell him? "You know, I didn't really buy into any of this. Coming here was my brother's idea," it took effort not to scowl when he mentioned Sam. "I was wondering, how did it start?"

Roy smiled and Sue Anne motioned to a chair. Dean sat and listened to the story of Roy's cancer and miraculous recovery. Shortly afterwards, he discovered he had the ability to heal people. Sue Anne looked so proud. Her eyes never left her husband's face while he related his story.

"Is there something else?" Roy asked when Dean was silent for too long.

"Just…Just one other thing." He fidgeted in his seat. A few years ago something as simple as this conversation would have been beyond him, beyond his abilities. "Why me? Why did you heal me?"

"Because I saw a young man with a mission. You still have work to do, Dean. Important work." Roy's voice was filled with so much confidence, it made Dean dizzy. Important work? Him? Maybe Sam's crazy quest was important, but that could go on without him. He never thought of himself as necessary.

Dean ran a hand over his head, rubbing his hair awkwardly as he stood. "Uh, thanks. Thanks a lot." Roy nodded as Sue Anne patted his arm.

She followed Dean out of the house. Two women were waiting on the front steps, one old enough to be the other woman's mother. As Dean passed them, he noticed that there was a striking resemblance. Perhaps they were closely related.

"Sue Anne?" The older woman asked, pleading with Roy's wife. "Can we see him?"

"I'm sorry. Roy is resting. No more visitors today," Sue Anne spun around, marched back into the house.

Dean felt the older woman's heated glare in his direction. He tried to slink off, to slip down the stairs unnoticed. But that never worked.

"You!" The older woman shouted, a finger pointed accusingly at him. "What gives you the right? You don't even believe!"

"Mom!" The younger woman admonished. "Don't." She pushed her mother's arm down. She turned to face Dean and he was struck by how very pretty she was. The familiar feeling of leaden arms and legs settled in, threatened to overcome him. "I'm sorry," she said, "my mother's a little frustrated."

Dean shook his head. "It's fine," he managed to say. "Why," he glanced at the house then back to her, "Why are you here?"

She smiled at him, holding out her hand. "I'm Layla."

Dean tried to smile back, hoping it wasn't that silly lop-sided grin which appeared on his face far too often lately. "Dean," he lifted a leaden arm to shake her hand. The strength of her grip surprised him, as did the sadness in her face. When he looked at her mother, he saw a despair that was so similar to Sam's the past week he felt guilty for not taking any of his brother's calls. Still holding her hand, he asked again, "Why are you here?"

She shrugged, slipping her hand from his. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing!" her mother hissed. "It's a tumor, in her brain." The woman's eyes blazed with fury, angry-with-God kind of fury. "It's inoperable."

In direct contrast to her mother, Layla smiled at him. There was no anger there. Dean understood that smile. It was acceptance. She was in the same position he had been: at the mercy of a loved one who refused to see her just give up and die. He wanted to say something, something with meaning. The words "I'm sorry" died on his tongue because they were worthless, meaningless.

Layla seemed to understand. She reached out and squeezed his arm. "It's okay," she assured him. She took her mother by the arm and they left, feet making horrible squelching noises in the mud. Dean stared after them, watching them leave. Her mother had such high hopes. He might envy that, but he had his own mother hen who provided that kind of support for him.

Speaking of which… Dean headed for the car. He scraped his boots off as best he could before stepping into the car. When they were ready to go, they needed to find a full service car wash. Interior and exterior needed a thorough cleaning after all this. Dean picked up his cell with a sigh. Two missed calls: one from Mom and the other from Sam. He returned Sam's call first. He supposed his brother deserved being spoken to again, but he was still on the Shit List.

"Dean? Is that you?" Sam's panicked voice shrieked through the phone.

Dean pulled the receiver away from his ear, frowning at the racket his brother made. "Who else?" he demanded. Not intending to give his brother time to answer, Dean launched into his real question, "Did you find anything?"

"Maybe," Sam admitted. Dean frowned at the hesitant tone. Sam was many things, but hesitant was not one of them. "The guy died of a massive heart attack. A witness says he claimed something was after him just before it happened."

Dean frowned. "Did you get a time of death?"

There was a long pause. "We can talk about that later."

"Now, Sam." Dean struggled to keep his voice under control.

Sam sighed and Dean cringed. He hated that sound. "About nine-fifteen."

He was glad he had not started driving yet. "Same time?" he asked, hearing how soft his voice was.

"Yeah." Sam's voice had that same breathless quality.

It was the same time he was healed. A stranger died at the exact same time he was healed, of a massive heart attack. His breath caught in his chest. Suddenly, he did not want to be alone. "Sam? You guys need a ride?"

He thought he heard Sam take a deep breath. "We'll be at the corner of Fifth and Main."

tbc...

Well, I wasn't really expecting John to stick around. That came as a surprise to me. Maybe it'll be for the best?


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Dean spotted his brothers as he rounded the corner. He waited, listening for both car doors to shut before driving toward their motel. He looked out of the corner of his eye at the passenger seat. Sam was there. Damn it. He thought Sam would have the sense to at least sit in back.

After a tense drive back to the motel, Dean sat in the car as his brothers headed for the room. He pulled out his phone, looking at the missed calls again. He still needed to call Mom.

"Dean?" Sam peered through his open window as Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. When did Sam come back? "Are you coming?" His brother's speech was soft and careful.

"In a minute. I have to call Mom," he heard the sigh in his voice.

Sam walked around the car and shouted something to Mikey before sitting in the passenger seat again. "Want some company? While you call?"

A dozen nasty comebacks flashed through his mind, but that familiar worried look was on Sam's face. He swallowed the comebacks, knowing Sam did not really deserve it. Would he have done things any differently? Well, Dean was pretty sure he would never have called Dad, so did that mean if this had happened to Sam that his brother would have died? He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he could live with himself knowing that if he had just swallowed a little pride he could have saved his brother's life. Finally he met Sam's eyes and gave a grudging nod. That psychiatrist, Ellicot, just replaced Sam on the Shit List.

As he made the call, Dean noticed Sam relax into the passenger seat.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom. It's me," he said into his phone.

"Dean!" Mom's panic came through loud and clear, making him wince. "Honey, how are you? Where are you? Sam won't tell me where he's taking you. I want to come see you." The plea in her voice betrayed the 'before it's too late' she was thinking.

"I'm fine, Mom," Dean assured her. "You don't need to fly out. Honest."

"But Dean," he heard her pause, catch her breath, "Mikey said that, that you weren't – doing well." Her voice broke on the last part.

"Specialists can work miracles sometimes, Mom." He shot Sam a look. "Really, I feel fine now. Want to talk to Sam?" He handed the phone over without waiting for an answer.

"Hey, Mom," Sam squirmed in the seat. Dean remembered that Sam had been avoiding this call as long as he had. "No, he's fine now. Um, actually, no, Mikey didn't really exaggerate." Sam shook his head, staring ahead at the motel. "No, really Mom. We just had Dean checked out again at the hospital. They couldn't find anything wrong with his heart." The skin between Sam's brows crinkled. "Okay, Mom. I'll have them send you a copy of the report. Yes, I promise. Bye, Mom. Uh-huh. Love you, too. Bye." Sam pressed the button and tossed the phone into Dean's lap as if he couldn't get rid of it fast enough.

"Guess I deserved that," Sam said, still staring at the motel.

Dean stared straight ahead, too. The place had a fresh white paint job with dark blue accents. The sign by the road was peeling green and blue, probably the old colors. Maybe it was under new management.

Dean considered letting Sam believe that, but then he thought of Layla and her mother, whose worry reminded him so strongly of Sam. "She wasn't going to believe me," Dean said. "Mom always believes you, though." He slipped the phone into his pocket, refusing to look over.

"No, she doesn't," Sam argued. From the squeaks against the leather seat and the rustle of clothing, he knew Sam turned to look at him.

"Yes, she does," Dean replied, wondering why he was allowing himself to be sucked into such a stupid argument. Probably because it meant they were talking again.

"Dean, that's not true. She believes you just as often as she does me." Sam was in full argument mode now.

Dean opened his door and slammed it behind him before walking back to the room. There was no talking to Sam when he was like that. Besides, it was true. Mom always listened to Sam, not to him. Granted, he never talked much, but wouldn't you think that might make her a little more likely to listen to him when he did? Dean grumbled under his breath as he opened the door.

"Learn anything?" Mikey asked from the relative safety of the far bed.

Dean sighed as he turned to face the youngest brother. "Sam is pigheaded."

"I meant, did you learn anything knew?" Mikey qualified.

"I think Roy believes in what he's doing. I can't tell if he's making it happen or just a conduit." Dean sat on the corner of the larger bed.

"So you do think it could be a miracle?" Sam's voice pressed on him from behind, demanding Dean admit he was right.

"Sam," Dean held up a hand, "don't start. Just don't." He sank further into the bed, events of the day catching up with him. Though he felt good, normal, exhaustion worked its way through his muscles into his bones. He was weary. Resting his head on one hand, he asked, "Can't you just give it a rest until tomorrow?"

"Good idea," Mikey's voice boomed from the far bed. "Think I'll take a nap. Somebody wake me when it's time to eat."

Dean pried his eyes open to see Mikey roll over to face the wall. He marveled at how such a big guy could look so innocent when sneaky. He knew damn well that was Mikey's way of telling him he could use a nap, but somehow it was more tolerable than Sam saying he looked tired. Unwilling to give Sam the opportunity to do exactly that, Dean stood.

"Yeah, good idea," he mumbled. Dean collapsed into bed, not caring how it might look to Sam. Damn, he was really tired.

He woke with a strange but familiar pressure on his chest. Dean kept his eyes closed, trying to identify what was causing it. When he felt the pressure shift, he knew what it was: Sam's hand. Damn it.

"Get off me, Sam," he grumbled. The pressure ceased instantly and he heard Sam's sneakers plod on the carpet away from the bed. Well, at least his brother hadn't tried snuggling. Dean pushed himself into a sitting position. He glanced over at the other bed; it was empty.

"Where's Mikey?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Said he had some errands," Sam said softly, as if keeping his voice low ensured Dean would not be irritated or annoyed.

"What kind of errands?" Dean demanded, stretching.

Sam shrugged, looking away. That meant either Sam really did not know, or it was something that was going to piss him off. Either way, Dean was tired of fighting, so he let it drop. His brother was digging through his duffel.

"Lose something?" he asked.

Sam glanced back. "Uh, yeah. I guess I did." He kept looking.

"What is it?" Dean asked. Sam mumbled something. "What?"

Sam kept his back to Dean as he answered, "Dad's journal. I thought I'd take it with us in the morning."

Dean knew perfectly well Sam was not going to find it in that duffel. He had hidden it under one of the beds in a motel room a couple of states away. It was an irrational thing to do and he knew it at the time, but Dean had been convinced that his brothers would be safer after he was gone without that damn journal getting them into trouble. There were things in there that he had never imagined were real, and would not except Dad had taken the time to write it down and found ways of killing it.

"Maybe Mikey was looking at it," Sam muttered, heading to Mikey's duffle. He dug through it for a moment while Dean wondered how exactly he was going to explain the missing journal. "Here it is," Sam held it up as he headed back to the table.

Dean watched Sam wave the leather bound volume while guilt seeped into him. How the hell did Mikey get that? He was startled from his thoughts by his cell.

Without looking at caller id, Dean answered. He assumed it would be Mikey. "Yeah?"

"Dean? Don't hang up," Dad's voice rushed into his ear. Dean frowned. He did not remember ever giving Dad his cell number. "I found something, and I don't think it can wait until morning. Can we meet for dinner? Or coffee?"

The rough voice pleading with him softened his resolve. "I guess so." Dean was not sure if he would be able to make it through dinner looking at Dad. "We'll meet you at the diner across the street from the motel when Mikey gets back."

He heard a throat clearing from the other end of the call. "You don't really have to bring him."

"Yes. I do. And you're going to be nice to him." Dean ordered.

"Fine." There was a pause and the rustle of papers. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Fine." Dean thumbed the button to end the call. He looked up at Sam. "Dad will be at the diner in an hour. We'll go as soon as Mikey gets back."

"He…" Sam's voice trailed off, his adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow. "He found something?"

"Looks like," Dean replied, not looking at his brother. He was not going to say 'I told you so.' Secretly, he had been hoping Sam was right. That would have given him an excuse to believe in miracles, in the good things as well as the bad. From the tone of Dad's voice, he suspected he was going to be left with just the bad again.

* * *

John Winchester took his stack of papers with dates and times of death correlated with LaGrange healings with a shaking hand. He needed to get to that diner before the boys did, in order to have some time to calm down. As he stared at his research he knew one thing: Dean was going to kill him. Literally kill him, and he would not lift a finger to stop his oldest son.

* * *

Mikey stood in the grocery aisle trying to decide. It was down to licorice whips, his favorite, peanut M&Ms, Dean's favorite, or a mixed bag of candy bars that they could all enjoy. After everything they had been through so far this week, he thought a celebration was in order. He already had several six packs of beer in his cart, chips and dip, jerky, now all he needed was dessert. Since Dean was at the center of all this, he selected the M&Ms, tossing them into the cart.

He pushed the cart to the checkout, wondering why it was in every grocery store in the nation there was at least one cart with a bad wheel, permanently turned at an angle guaranteed to make it shudder with the slightest push. And why did he always have to pick that one cart. Mikey supposed it was karma. In some other life he had it too easy, so in this life he was reduced to hunting ghosts and picking bad grocery carts. With a chuckle, he told himself to remember to tell that one to Dean. His oldest brother would appreciate it.

Mikey paid for his purchases, still stuck with the bad cart out into the parking lot where it complained loudly as it kept trying to escape to his left. He loaded the groceries into the Impala. After it was empty, he shoved the cart forcefully into the cart return area, causing the few carts in there to smash together. Nothing less than the damn things deserved, he thought ruefully.

As he drove back to the motel, idle thoughts flickered through his head. The one that stuck, unfortunately, was who Dean had planned on giving the Impala. Now that Dean was out of danger the question was purely academic, but Mikey wondered. He supposed Sam. After all, his brothers were related by more than just adoption. He suspected Dean liked all the attention Sam paid when they thought, knew, Dean was dying. Now that he thought about it, Dean never complained about the sleeping arrangements. Speaking of sleeping arrangements, what were they going to do about tonight?

Mikey nearly pulled the car off the road. They still had the room with one single and one large bed. He thought Dean should still be in a bed. After everything his brother had gone through, he deserved to sleep in a bed and not on a cot. Dean might not see it that way, but his oldest brother did not like to argue so that would not be a problem. Mikey supposed he could ask at the front office about a cot or one of those roller beds. He could volunteer to sleep on a roller bed. Most cots would not support his bulk.

After passing the motel because he was lost in thought and having to double back, he pulled in as close to their room as he could. Mikey hefted his groceries up and headed to the room as his cell went off. He growled under his breath, realizing it would be impossible to answer. At the door of their room, Mikey kicked at the door hoping Dean was already awake. Dean looked thoroughly worn out when they came in earlier. Mikey worried his oldest brother might be trying to do too much too soon, but telling Dean that pretty much guaranteed Dean would try to do twice as much.

Dean opened the door. He stood blocking the doorway, holding his cell to his ear. At the sight of Mikey, Dean grinned and put his cell away. "Speak of the devil," he said, taking some of the bags from Mikey.

"Thanks," Mikey said, relieved Dean was awake. He followed Dean in, setting his bags on the table.

Dean peered into the bags, rummaging inside. "What's all this?" he asked.

Mikey shrugged. "I thought we should celebrate."

Dean passed the beer to Sam. "See how much will fit in that fridge over there," he ordered. From the looks of things, his older brothers had come to some sort of truce.

"Mikey, we're meeting Dad at the diner. Your party will have to wait," Dean explained, checking through the rest of the bags.

"Nothing else needs to be refrigerated," Mikey promised.

"Good," Dean headed for the door. "You two coming or what?"

tbc...

Next: Truth and Consequences


	10. Chapter 10

I had this ready yesterday, but I couldn't upload it because that part of the site was down. So here it is! Really enjoyed writing this part. It's John's POV and I hadn't used it much yet.

**Chapter 10**

John stared blankly at the diner menu. What the hell do you order for your last meal? He considered breakfast, but he wasn't much of a morning person. Breakfast meant morning. Then there were various steaks, but he did not trust little diners to make a decent steak. If he had known what he would find, John would have insisted on going to a decent steak house. There had to be one even in this little town, they were still in the US after all.

Eventually he settled on a mushroom swiss burger with fries. Not ideal for a last meal, but he supposed it would have to do. Then he ordered beer to drink and told her to keep them coming. She gave him a funny look, but nodded as she walked away. He tossed the laminated menu aside, knowing the boys would be here soon. A long look out the window toward the motel told him they were not coming yet. Maybe he would be able to order desert before his execution.

With a deep sigh, he flipped through his research. Dean was right, there was definitely something going on here, and it was their type of thing. While he was grateful his oldest son was alive, despite the fact the boy hated him, John knew he could not leave with this LaGrange guy still operational. Did that make him a hypocrite? _Thanks for saving my son but that's it, you're outta business, dude. _ He rubbed a hand over his tired face as the beer arrived. Maybe he should have ordered coffee. He usually dealt with Dean better sober.

The beer tasted good as it flowed into his mouth. He closed his eyes, allowed the feel of the alcoholic beverage to wash some of his doubt and fears away. When he opened his eyes, he saw three men walking his way from the motel. "Oh, shit. When the hell did that Mikey kid get back?" So much for his short-lived reprieve.

He slid against the wall of the booth, making room for the three rather good sized men who were coming. Dean was the smallest of the group, and he was nearly John's size. Sam towered over everyone while Mikey was, just, big. Damned big. I-don't-want-to-meet-him-in-a-dark-alley big. As he watched their approach, John noticed that Dean had natural leadership abilities. The other two boys fell into step behind Dean, taking minute direction from the way he walked, shifted, tilted his head or raised a hand. It was really rather impressive. If John could have taken credit for it, he would be proud. He supposed that was the result of Mike's influence.

He imagined he could feel the moment Dean walked into the diner. The boy had an energy, a personality, that was a force unto itself. John had watched Dean back down some rather nasty customers with a simple look. Dean never knew he was being watched, of course. John knew how to hide in a crowd, and bars were some of his favorite places for observing his boys. When the third boy, Mikey, showed up he had been concerned. He had never bothered to check if Mike and Kate had a kid after he left. He did check to make sure they kept Dean and Sam. That would have been unforgivable, and John knew how to get revenge. It was something he spent the last twenty two years working on.

The boys found him rather quickly. It was still early for dinner so most of the tables and booths were empty. To his profound surprise, Dean slid in next to him while Sam and Mikey shared the opposite side. Both boys opposite him had the same surprised expression that John felt. He passed each a menu.

"It's on me," he reminded them, though he doubted any had forgotten. But he knew they still did not trust him. As if to confirm that, he heard a derisive scoffing noise come from Dean. When he looked over, Dean's face was perfectly blank. Where could anyone learn to do that? He could certainly use such a blank expression when he played cards.

The waitress bustled back over with a second beer for John. She took the boys' drink orders before rushing off again, as though she had more than one table to worry about. Since John had not seen her approach any other tables, he doubted that.

Dean dropped his menu on the table. It landed with a sharp slap that made both Sam and Mikey jump.

"So, Dad, what's so damned important it couldn't wait for morning?" Dean made the word 'Dad' sound like a dirty word, a name that had to be spat out because it left a lingering bad taste. He cringed inwardly, knowing it was his fault. Had he known how his oldest would react to being left behind, maybe he would not have done it. Maybe. This was a very dangerous life and had no place for children or liabilities.

John pushed his research over. Dean took it, flipped through, then cast him a strong look. He cleared his throat. "Each time LaGrange healed someone, someone else in town died of similar natural causes. If he healed someone of lung cancer, then someone who was thought to be perfectly healthy dropped dead of advanced lung cancer, no previous symptoms." John took a deep breath. "Sounds like a reaper."

"A reaper?" Sam asked. John noticed Dean's mouth was open to say something, but it snapped shut when Sam started talking. "As in, The Grim Reaper?"

John shrugged. "There's probably more than one. Most cultures have legend or lore about reapers. Supernatural beings that take your soul from your body when you die, help cross you over." He shifted, the padded bench seat now horribly uncomfortable. John downed half his fresh beer before continuing. "Reapers have control over Life and Death. I can't imagine what else could be doing this."

"But why Roy?" Dean asked softly. Even from the small exchanges John had been allowed with his sons, he knew Dean's soft questions were usually the most important.

"He must be controlling it somehow," John suggested. "That's some serious dark spellwork, if he is."

"Sounds dangerous," Mikey said. It was the first time John heard the boy speak since they arrived, and he could detect Mike's tone in the words.

"Like putting a leash on a great white," John confirmed. "Can't last forever."

"So…So we could just leave. Eventually this will take care of itself." Sam suggested. Although the comment was directed at John, he noticed Sam's eyes never left Dean.

"Not a good idea," Dean replied before John had the chance. "How many people might die in the meantime? And is Roy picking who dies or does the reaper just take the next name on its list a little early?"

"I think he's picking them," John replied, lifting his beer for another swig.

"How's that?" Sam asked. The boy looked a little pale, more so than when the boys came in.

John motioned for the papers Dean had. They were passed over. He shuffled through them until he found the victims list and their occupations and hobbies. "I checked out each of the victims." He saw Sam flinch at the term. Apparently he was not the only one on death row here. "Here is a list of their occupations or interests or anything that was newsworthy. One was a spokesperson for gay rights, another challenged the appointment of a new judge who was known for being an ultra right wing religious conservative, this one was the head of the local planned parenthood center where abortions are performed, and the list just goes on from there."

Sam reached out a hand for the list. With a glance at Dean, John passed it over. Sam and Mikey poured over the list while Dean stared down at his drink. He spun around in the booth, waving for the waitress.

"Yeah, hon? Ready to order?" she asked, snapping her gum.

"I think I'd like a beer, too," Dean told her. "And a burger with fries."

The other two boys placed their orders. Nothing more was said until after Dean's beer arrived. He downed half of it in one long gulp. Dean held out his hand for the list of victims. "I think you missed one," he mumbled.

"What's that?" John asked, surprised by Dean's calm tone. He honestly expected to have been shot by now, considering his son's temper.

"You may have missed one," Dean handed the list back. "Roy woke up from a coma, miraculously cured. Sounds exactly like what's happening to everyone he heals. He may have been the first."

"You're saying Roy healed himself using a reaper?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No!" Dean snapped, glaring at his brother. John was ashamed to feel some relief at the fact that temper was angled at someone else for a change. He felt some sympathy toward Sam; it was not easy to be on the receiving end. "I'm saying someone did. Maybe his wife," his eyes dropped to the table, "she could have been desperate enough."

"How do you figure?" John asked gently, leaning forward to look at his son and hoping not to remind Dean this whole mess was his idea.

"She loves him," he told the table. "People who love you can do stupid things." His eyes leveled on Sam. "Sometimes, really stupid things."

Sam flinched at the words. John understood then that Dean did not blame him, he blamed his brother. John did not know if he should he allow that, or attempt to redirect that anger back onto himself. At the stricken look on Sam's face, he knew what to do.

"Sorry about that." John said. "I should have checked it out myself before asking Joshua to call Sam."

Hard green eyes bored into him. John swallowed hard. "Guess so," Dean said. John was unable to identify the expression on the oldest boy's face, and he considered himself something of an expert on judging people's expressions. This might be his last meal after all.

The waitress, with her impeccable timing, chose that moment to deliver their food. They ate in silence. John watched all the boys as subtly as he could. Mikey kept looking between Sam and Dean, John might as well not exist as far as that boy was concerned. Sam looked at him when not watching Dean. Dean watched his food. The tension was so thick John visualized those cones of silence from Get Smart surrounding each person at the table. They were close physically, yet conversation was impossible.

When everyone finished eating, Dean stood. Sam and Mikey rushed to leave the booth. Dean tilted his head toward the door. Sam paused before following Mikey out of the diner. Dean shot him a hard look that sent Sam out on Mikey's heels. Dean lingered by the table, watching his brothers cross the street toward the motel.

Maybe this was his last meal. John watched, wondering if Dean was waiting to say or do something. The waitress hurried over with their check. She stood by the table for a moment, obviously wondering who was buying. John motioned for her to hand him the check. He glanced at it before handing over a bogus credit card. Dean watched the waitress walk away. John noticed Dean's eyes never left the woman's hips, until she walked behind the counter. He shook himself, turned around to face John.

"About that," Dean cleared his throat. "Uh. Thanks."

John had honestly expected either a chewing out or a right hook. Dean had a hell of a right hook. "For what?"

"For giving Sam an out," Dean said, raising his eyes to meet John's. "You let him off the hook. I don't have to be mad at him now." His head cocked to one side, evaluating John. He was reminded of a hawk or wolf sizing up its competition. "I'm pretty sure it was intentional. Why would you do that?"

John sighed. "I know you don't believe it, Dean. But I do care about you and Sam."

Dean looked down, scuffed the floor with one foot. "In your, uh, journal, you wrote that you thought we'd be safer with Pop and Mom."

"Yeah. I did." John nodded. "Not sure that was the right decision, but you were definitely safer there."

Dean looked up, brow crinkled. "We were safer, but you're not sure it was the right decision? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The waitress, with the kind of timing that only allows her to ask if you need anything the instant you just stuffed a forkful of food in your mouth, appeared with his credit card receipt. John signed it with the false name on the card before handing it back. She gave him a faltering smile as she scuttled back to the cash register. He waited for the swaying hips to disappear before trying to get Dean's attention again.

"Well, considering how much you hate me," John pushed himself out of the booth, "I've been seriously rethinking that decision. It's too late now, of course, but I keep wondering if there was a way to make it work."

"They put me in therapy," Dean said, his eyes burning into John. The word therapy was said with more venom than Dad usually was. John had not thought that possible. Dean took a deep breath. "Thirteen years of therapy."

John winced. "Ouch," he muttered. Thirteen years of discussing your feelings? "Sounds like hell."

Dean nodded, looking away. John watched his oldest shudder. "Did, uh, Sam have to do that too?"

Dean shook his head, still looking out the window. "I think they started it because I didn't talk."

"You talked!" John snapped, suddenly irate over an event that happened twenty two years ago.

Dean shifted his eyes to look at John, one eyebrow cocked. "Not to them."

All the air left John's lungs. He sank back onto the bench seat, trying to catch his breath. He rubbed his hands over thick almost-beard stubble as he stared at Dean. Boy, did he screw up. The air fought him, not wanting to go into his lungs as thick pressure encircled his chest.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe I should thank you. I got a Mom, Pop, and another brother out of it."

John met Dean's eyes. They reached the decision at the same time. "Nah."

He waited until after Dean left, after he watched his oldest son cross the street and disappear into the motel, before he stood again. His lungs were still starved for air and the pressure around his chest demanding, but he was no longer dizzy. John made his way slowly to his truck. He sat behind the wheel for several minutes, listening to soft country music, before he shifted it into drive. No wonder Sammy was so protective. He had no idea how fragile Dean was, and always was. He should have seen it. _Mary, can you ever forgive me? I wanted to do the right thing by the boys but I think I really screwed up, and there is no fixing it now._

tbc…

Next: Celebration?


	11. Chapter 11

(heather03nmg, darling, here it is!) Okay, it took a couple of days, but I wanted to find a way for them to celebrate even though they found out someone had to die for Dean to live. And, you know, still be obnoxious brothers about it. Oh, who was it that complained about no more snuggling? Have I got a surprise for you…

A/N: Found some mistakes. Should be corrected now. Had them in the wrong friggin' state, for one! Duh!!

**Chapter 11**

Dean entered the motel room faced with two somber faces. "We'll have to head out early tomorrow, try to stop the next healing." He informed them.

Sam and Mikey nodded, watching him carefully.

"What?" he demanded, tossing his jacket on a chair.

His brothers exchanged a look. "So, is he, uh…" Mikey's voice trailed off.

"What happened?" Sam asked softly.

Dean scoffed. "You two act like you think I killed him or something." He chuckled. When no one joined him, he glared at them. "You don't, do you?"

Mikey and Sam exchanged a look. "No," Sam began, the hesitation evident in his voice. "But we wondered, if, uh, you know, considering what's happened in the past, that you might have…"

"He's trying to ask if you beat the crap out of your Dad," Mikey finished.

Dean could not resist the smirk that came over his face. "Well, I would have liked to. But no, I didn't." He sat at the table and popped open the bag of peanut M&Ms. "What do you two care, anyway?"

Sam slid into the chair across from him. "Well, assuming this is a reaper, I thought we'd probably need all the help we can get. Even from Dad." The look in Sam's eyes clearly asked if Dad was going to help.

"I guess," Dean shrugged. A beer appeared in front of his face, hanging from Mikey's hand. He took it, popped the top off. He felt Mikey ease that bulk into the chair at the end of the table, between him and Sam.

Mikey slid a second beer to Sam before opening his own. A realization dawned on Dean as he took a pull on his bottle. "Mikey? You're not twenty-one. How the hell did you buy the beer?"

Mikey grinned. He dug his wallet out, handed it over to Dean. Dean took it and looked through several false ids Mikey had. "Dude, where did you get these?"

"I know how to pay attention," Mikey replied, clinking his beer against Dean's. His baby brother was obviously alluding to Dean's ability to create very realistic false identifications.

Dean stared back. Then he felt something he had not felt in a long time. It rose from the depths of his gut, wriggled through his chest, and forced its way into his throat. He chuckled, jaw clenched shut. At the amused look on Mikey's face, another chuckle followed, but he could not keep his jaw locked around that one, or the next. Then he heard laughter, his laughter.

Mikey joined in quickly, taking his wallet back. Dean was unable to contain his laughter, allowing it to consume him until his ribs ached and his lungs burned for air. When he looked through tear-filled eyes across the table, he saw Sam was in much the same condition. He gasped for breath between guffaws, tried desperately to make the laughter stop but he could not. Dean had to wait for the moment of hilarity to cease and allowed him to regain the power of speech.

"It…" he gasped, desperate for air, "It wasn't that funny."

Mikey shook his head. "Nope," he breathed out.

Sam's head was lying on the table, his body still shaking with silent laughter. "Uh-uh." He chuckled again, lifting his head. Sam pointed a finger in Mikey's face. "Bad Mikey!"

Dean slapped the table. "And you didn't catch him!" He laughed. "I did!" That set them off again. In one part of his mind, the part not currently consumed with hysterical laughter, Dean supposed this was a release of all the fear and dread they all experienced since his electrocution. Through the veil of laughter he could see relief in the faces of his brothers. He felt bad knowing someone died so he could live, but it was still an academic fact. The reality of it had not sunk in yet. Dean knew when it did, he was going to have at least one more issue, one more piece of emotional baggage to lug around. But until then, and at least for this evening, he was determined to enjoy the company of his brothers.

"Oh, shit!" Dean scrambled for his cell. The remaining laughter in the room died off as he made his call. "Hey Mom! We're in Salvation, Nebraska. Yeah, if you really want to fly out, go ahead. It'll be good to see you." Dean frowned at the reply he got. "No, I'm not on any prescription feel-good meds, Mom." He rolled his eyes. "Okay, which one do you want?" He slid his cell over to Mikey.

Mikey groaned as he lifted the phone to his ear. "What? Mom! No he's not delusional, he just wants to see you. No, that doesn't make him delusional." Mikey sighed, downing his beer. He pushed it aside before retrieving another from the little fridge. "Mom, Dean does too like you." He groaned as he sat back down. "Well, maybe if you didn't keep asking for either me or Sam every time you're on the phone with him, he'd talk to you more!" Mikey pulled the phone away and stabbed the off button. He slapped it on the table before reaching into his own pocket and pulling out his cell. As his finger moved for the power button, it went off. He scowled, turning it off. With a look, he communicated to Sam to do the same. As Sam pulled out his cell, it went off. With a grin, Sam shut it off.

"So, it's just the Peavy brothers tonight, huh?" Sam asked, holding up his brown bottle.

Dean and Mikey lifted their bottles as well, clinking brown glass. "Peavy brothers!"

In a flutter of packaging, the chips, dip and jerky were opened. Mikey grinned from ear to ear. "I love junk food night," he told them.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look before replying in unison, "We know!"

"Wanna see what's on pay per view?" Sam asked, heading for the television remote.

"No porn, Sammy," Dean warned. "I mean it."

"Come on, Dean," Sam grinned, "you might pick up a few tips."

Dean groaned, stuffing a chip into his mouth to keep from responding with something embarrassing he might not live down. Mikey slipped behind Sam as the middle child searched through the pay per view listings. Just before he could select something about naughty nurses, Mikey grabbed Sam from behind, lifting him off his feet.

"Get it, Dean!" Mikey shouted.

Dean surged forward, grabbing at the remote. He felt his fingers close around it as Mikey swung Sam further away. "Got it!" he yelled, twisting it out of Sam's clutches. Even with his extra weight, Mikey would not be able to hang on to Sam forever. Sam was one slippery s.o.b. when he wanted to be. While Mikey wrestled their lanky brother across the room, Dean rushed to look through the pay per view menu. He could not believe that one of the selections was actually there. He chose it, knowing it would be good for all of them.

"Check it!" he hollered. "Lethal Weapon Three!"

"No shit?" Mikey released Sam, who squirmed the rest of the way out of Mikey's grasp.

Sam grimaced. "Well, whatever."

Dean surveyed their beds as the intro music started up. "This won't work. Come on, Mikey, give me a hand." He pulled the dressing table between the beds out and moved it against the far wall. Dean moved around to the far side of Mikey's single bed and shoved. Mikey joined him. By the time they created one large bed out of the two, Sam stood by holding three fresh beers. Dean dove into the center of the new larger bed.

"Don't forget the food, Mikey," he said, holding out a hand for his beer. The bed sank under Sam's weight on his right. Mikey deposited the food at their feet before crawling on the single bed side and moving close to Dean. Mikey settled on his left, their shoulders lightly touching as Mel Gibson came on the screen.

Sam leaned forward, snagging the plastic bag of jerky. When he leaned back, his shoulder touched Dean on the right. Sam passed over the jerky, chuckling at a bad pun. When he settled against the headboard, their shoulders were still touching. As he watched the movie, Dean felt a silly smile come over his face. The feel of being sandwiched between his brothers like this was comforting, safe and warm.

"Hey," Sam poked him in the ribs. "What's up?"

Dean shook his head, wiping his face blank as he took a quick swig of beer. He felt himself being rocked side to side as his brothers teamed up on him.

"Watch it," he barked, "you're gonna spill my beer!" Dean braced himself with his free hand, attempting to stop the brotherly harassment. Sam and Mikey quit, laughing at him.

"Admit it, Dean," Mikey nudged him, "you're having fun."

"Never heard of it," Dean protested, grabbing another handful of M&Ms. When he settled back, he was relieved to find he had to squeeze between his brothers.

They enjoyed the rest of the movie. Afterwards, unwilling to call it a night, Sam changed the channel to one of those night time talk shows. They laughed at the monologues and made fun of the guests. A number of M&Ms found their way across the room to bounce off the screen.

An annoying noise buzzed around the edges of Dean's consciousness. Persistent buzzing echoed behind closed eyelids. There was a weight on his chest making breathing uncomfortable. For a moment he forgot and thought this might be the beginning of the end, that his heart was finally giving out. Dean pried open his eyes. Mikey's head was planted firmly in the exact center of his chest, one meaty arm wrapped around his abdomen. When he tried to move his head, he discovered Sam's arm wedged behind his neck, wrapped around his shoulders with Sam's long hand gripping his bicep.

Dean managed to wriggle one arm free. He used it to rock Mikey's head back and forth. Mikey finally lifted his boulder of a head and Dean could breathe easily. "Huh?" he blinked bleary eyes at Dean.

"Dude, move," Dean gave him a shove. Mikey pulled away. Now he could sit up, roll his head and sore neck. Yep, that was going to be a crick in his neck all day. He shoved Sam off to the side, giving him a shake.

"Sammy, turn the damn alarm off," he snapped, finally realizing what that annoying buzzing sound was.

He checked his watch. They had about an hour until the next healing. "Come on, guys. We need to get moving!"

tbc…

Next: Back to the Tent!


	12. Chapter 12

Okay, I originally just wrote this chapter from Kate's (Mom's) POV. Then I realized that I promised Inside the Tent. So it's interspersed with what's happening with the boys – each POV is used. That made it a little longer than normal, but I didn't think anyone would mind.

**Chapter 12**

Kate Peavy stood waiting for her bag to come around the baggage carousel. The Salvation Airport was so small they only had one baggage area for all their flights. Actually, that still was not saying much. She frowned, tugging nervously at her jacket. The boys said Dean was fine but she had this dreadful feeling, like something terrible was going to happen to him. Dean might be the most withdrawn of her children, but he was still hers.

After what felt like endless waiting, the carousel began to turn. Kate watched the luggage carefully. Her red case stood out like a beacon amid the black bags. She snagged it off the conveyor belt and turned around to look for the nearest taxi stand. So lost in thought, she did not notice the large man standing beside her until he spoke.

"Kate?"

She whirled around. Standing in front of her was, of all people, John Winchester. Kate felt her blood pressure shoot up. Why the hell couldn't Mike have come with her? The shop couldn't run itself for a couple of days? She glared at him, allowed her anger to show.

"Guess you're a little surprised to see me, huh?" John gave her a broad smile. "Well, I promise, this wasn't my idea."

She cocked her head to one side. "Oh, really?" Her hands firmly planted on her hips, she scowled at that man.

"Dean asked me to pick you up. The boys are, ah, busy." He took her red suitcase in his massive hand, forcing her to follow him out of the baggage area.

"Dean asked you?" she demanded, close on his heels. "I find that hard to believe!"

John chuckled. "Well, really, it was more of an order. I think he's trying to keep me out of the way."

"Out of the way of what?" He tossed her suitcase into the back of a black pickup that had seen better days.

John turned around, smiled that charming smile from so many years ago. "Of them."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're lying. Dean doesn't give orders. Hell, he can barely ask for anything."

That irritating smile broadened. "That's what you think. Get in." He motioned with his head to the passenger side.

She stomped around the truck. As she reached for the door handle, an idea occurred to her. She pulled out her cell phone and called Sam. When it rang over to voice mail, she scowled. She tried Mikey next. He answered on the second ring.

"Mom? You okay? John did pick you up, right?"

"Why is John Winchester picking me up? Why aren't you here?" Kate demanded of her son.

She heard Mikey clear his throat. There was a whispered conversation that she could not make out. "Mom," Dean cut through the background hiss of voices, "not now. We'll meet you in about an hour or so. Dad knows where we're staying. Gotta go."

She stared at the device in her hand as if Dean had reached through the phone and slapped her in the face. The blare of the truck horn blasted her from those thoughts. Unwilling to be left behind, Kate climbed into the truck. But there had better be some damned good explanations. Soon.

-

* * *

Dean stepped out of his car, grateful it was still his car. He never did decide which of his brothers he wanted to leave it to. His eyes settled on LaGrange's tent with apprehension, as though if he went back inside, knowing this was something he had to stop, then everything would go back to the way it was.

A nudge at his shoulder told him Mikey was waiting to hear what they were supposed to do. "I'll go in the tent," he told them, "try to stop today's healing. Sam, you check out the house, see if you can find proof that it really is one of these reapers. Mikey, you hang out in the parking lot."

"What for?" Mikey demanded.

"With everyone usually inside somewhere, I'm guessing there may be something going on out here during the healings. If there is, we need to know." Dean glared at his youngest brother over his shoulder. "It isn't any less dangerous than going in the tent or house, so knock it off."

He hurried away before Mikey realized his fears were exactly what Dean was thinking. Even after Mikey had proved himself time and again to be reliable in a pinch, he hated putting his youngest brother in danger. Mikey might have a good seventy pounds on him, but damn it, the kid was still the baby. Dean would never forgive himself if anything really bad happened to Mikey. Or Sam, for that matter.

A man thrust a yellow flyer in his face. "The healings are a scam! Roy LaGrange is a fake!" he shouted at the people passing.

Dean took a flyer, folding it carefully and slipping it into his pocket. "You said it, brother," he replied, slapping the man on the shoulder.

Dean slipped into the tent as Roy warmed up. When he called Layla, Dean's heart sank. Why her? It wasn't that she did not deserve to be healed, but she above all people he had seen here would hate herself if she knew someone died to give her life. Dean suspected some of these people would never care. He wondered if Sam did. He wondered if Sam had known the consequences, if his brother would still have dragged them here.

"Layla," he hissed, waving at her from the far aisle.

She made her way over to him, her face bright with expectation. "Did you hear him, Dean? He called me! I'm next."

Dean shook his head. What could he say? "Layla, please, you can't." _I'm trying to save your conscience, your soul here._ "Maybe there is a way, but it isn't Roy. You have to believe me."

She shook her head, betrayal settling into her features. "But – he healed you."

"Yeah, but," Dean glanced back at her mother's anxious face. He took a deep breath to steel himself. "Not this way, Layla. Please. Trust me." _I want to help. You don't want to live with this; trust me, believe me._

Last night with his brothers had been great, Dean had to admit, but the reality of the fact someone died – **_died_** – so he might live was rapidly settling in. It clung like a dead weight on his conscience, maybe his soul, if such a thing as a soul did exist. He was determined that no one else have this hang over them, tainting them.

Layla looked back at her mother. When her shoulders dropped Dean knew she would go up there. He would. He did. She shook her head at him sadly as she brushed past. Defeated, Dean left the tent. What could he do now?

-

* * *

As John drove in silence, Kate fumed. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Sam called me. He was looking for help with Dean's condition. I know someone who specializes in, ah, specialists. I had him call Sam and then I drove out here to see if it would work." He glanced over at her.

"Sam called you," she repeated. "When exactly did he call?"

John shrugged, dodging a pothole in the road. "I don't know which one of us was called first, if that's what you're asking." He let out a deep sigh. "But I certainly wouldn't blame them for calling you first."

"And you would have no right!" She shouted, her voice loud in the truck cab. "No right to blame any of my sons for anything!"

John nodded at the windshield. "I know."

She turned away, glaring at the road ahead. They drove in silence for over ten minutes before she realized that he had not argued with her. "So," Kate glanced over, "you agree that they are MY sons? All of them?"

John shook his head, still staring straight ahead. "Wouldn't dream of arguing with you, Kate." He chuckled. "Besides, Dean would probably kick my ass if I tried."

She scoffed. "I doubt that."

He looked at her, his brow creased. "Have you met your son Dean lately?" he asked, his tone deadly serious.

"Watch it!" she shouted, pointing at the oncoming car whose lane they were drifting into. John corrected it quickly, smoothly. She thought it over. "What did you mean by that? Have I met Dean lately?"

John's jaw clenched as he drove around another pothole, but Kate suspected it was a diversion tactic. She did not see anything wrong with the road. John cleared his throat several times. "Nothing."

That wasn't nothing, she decided. It was definitely something. Now what spurred that comment about if she had met Dean yet? Something about Dean kicking his ass if John argued with her? Dean. Dean kick John's ass. Defending her. Riiiiiight.

"What's so funny?" John asked, glancing between her and the road.

"Doesn't concern you," Kate snapped, shaking her head.

-

* * *

Mikey's phone rang. "They're after the protester, the guy handing out flyers in the parking lot!" Sam's voice yelled through his phone.

He scanned the parking lot. A young guy with yellow flyers waved the fluorescent pages at a few late stragglers who paid him no attention. Mikey slogged through the mud, trying to cross the parking lot before whatever-it-was showed up.

He was stopped by cries of fire in an all too familiar voice. Mikey spun in the mud, losing his balance and nearly falling over. Fortunately, he had played more than one football game on muddy turf and knew how to compensate. His shoes were a lost cause, of course. He was torn between the innocent who needed protecting and Dean's voice shouting. The events of the past week rushed on him and Mikey ran toward his brother's voice. Screw the stranger.

-

* * *

They pulled into a motel parking lot. John checked his watch. "Should be over by now. They ought to be here soon." He looked down the road in the opposite direction of where they had come. "If they don't show up in fifteen minutes, we go looking for them."

Kate nodded. As long as it involved seeing her sons, John could be as cryptic as he wanted. Sturdy painted nails drummed on the truck armrest as she waited. Dean had better be all right after all this. All the worry he had put her through. If she found out they were all lying to her, trying to avoid her… Kate shook her head. Dean was her biggest mistake. She had really messed up with him, and he had still turned into a nice young man. Okay, he didn't like her too much, but could she really blame him? She forced the boy to go to therapy for most of his formative years. Then she tried to force him not to look after his younger brothers, not to take part in their activities. In effect, she had tried to shut him out of the family, though that had not been her intent. At the time, it seemed a logical step to forcing independence and not thrusting too much responsibility at too young an age, which she had read was always a bad thing. Instead she made him sullen and withdrawn. If not for Mike, Dean would undoubtedly still be living at home and not speaking to anyone. By the time Kate realized the damage she had caused, it was too late.

She let out a deep sigh, her thoughts of self-crimination swirling in her mind. Her only hope of her oldest learning to like her was now, in his adult years. Kate was determined that he would learn to like her, maybe even love her. She had to make up for all her mistakes somehow, but she did not know how exactly.

-

* * *

Two local county cops were manhandling his big brother, practically throwing him out of Roy's tent. Sam felt his anger flare, but he was too far away to do anything about it. He considered heading that way, until he realized his view was being blocked by Mikey. With a grin, Sam chose to wait by the Impala. Let the cops deal with a pissed off Mikey. Better them than him.

Sam flipped through the small black book he found in the LaGrange study. The thick coating of dust on the shelves of theology books was not surprising considering Roy was blind. Or at least claimed to be. But when Sam found that one book was removed on a regular basis, and it did not look to be interesting even to a preacher, he pulled it out. Behind it was this little black book, full of dark spells and illustrations that turned his stomach.

Sam glanced up to see his brothers headed his way. They were involved in a heated discussion. When they were close enough to hear, Sam made out that the discussion was about whether or not Mikey should have charged the cops. He guessed Dean had stopped their youngest brother before the kid could get started. He was right, it was definitely a pissed off Mikey.

"Sam!" Dean's voice carried clearly though they were still a fair distance from the car. "Find anything?"

Sam waved the black book at his brothers. When they were closer, he tossed it to Dean. He waited until they were all seated in the car and Dean was flipping through the pages before explaining.

"I hate to admit it, but it looks like Dad is right. Roy bound a reaper."

"Not Roy," Dean tossed the book into his lap, "Sue Anne. I caught her chanting and holding a weird cross with red stuff in it that could have been blood."

Sam searched for the right page as Dean pulled out of the parking lot. "A cross like this one?" he asked, pointing out the picture. "I noticed one on Roy's altar."

Dean glanced at the page before driving onto the road. "Yeah, I think so."

"Shit. Definitely a reaper." Sam leaned his head against the window. Now what?

-

* * *

The throaty purr of Dean's Impala, a sound Kate would recognize anywhere, crept past her thoughts. She looked out through the windshield to see the big black car roaring up the road. She sat up expectantly, watching it slow down and pull into the parking lot. The boys, her boys, stepped out. They had somber, serious looks on their faces.

Dean turned, recognizing the truck. His face split into a bright smile as he walked over. That walk did not look familiar, it was more of a swagger than Dean's normal cautious gait. He opened her door.

"Hey, Mom. Glad you came." He leaned in to hug her. She could smell his leather jacket, that spicy aftershave she gave him for Christmas, and scented motel soap. His arms felt solid around her and his color looked good. Dean did not look like he even had a cold recently, much less one step away from the grave. Mikey and Sam were going to get a thorough chewing out for worrying her like that.

She ran one hand along his cheek before allowing him to completely pull away. His cheeks were slightly sunken. If she looked close, she could see the remnants of dark circles under his eyes. On impulse, she kissed him on the cheek and was amazed that he allowed her. That one item was what convinced her to hold off on the chewing out of the other two boys. At least until she could get to the bottom of this.

As Dean retrieved her bag from John's truck, she saw Sam hand over a small black book to John. John flipped through it, making a terrible face. They spoke in low voices so the rest could not hear them. Or, more likely, so she could not hear them.

"Mikey," Dean said as he passed her youngest, "go see if you can get Mom a room near us."

Mikey nodded and rushed off as if he were given an order by a ranking officer. Dean grinned at her again, opening the door to their room. She walked in. It was something of a surprise to find a single huge bed in the room; she thought she had broken her sons of those terrible sleeping in the same bed habits when they were little.

Dean's short bark of laughter drew her attention. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing, Mom," he said with that same grin. "Just good to see that some things don't change."

"Meaning?" she demanded, sitting at the table. There were crumbs from candy or chips, perhaps both, littering the surface. Kate brushed them away with a scowl.

Dean plopped into the chair next to her. "Still worried?" he asked, his voice soft. This was the Dean she knew, that she remembered; the fragile boy who seemed to break if a word were used carelessly.

"Always," she replied, reaching out to touch him again. Dean had never liked being touched. She and Mike had tried to respect that, but under the threat of nearly losing him Kate had to feel him under her fingertips to be certain, to know he was there and it was not just some dream on the plane. Her hand rested on his shoulder, she did not dare reach for his face again. "Do you…" her voice broke. She cleared her throat, trying to recover it. "Do you have any idea what I've been going through? Why wouldn't Sam just tell us where you were going?"

"He didn't tell us either, Mom," Dean assured her, taking her hand between his. She watched as his hands engulfed hers, her light skin disappearing beneath his tanned hands. Dean shrugged. "That's Sam for you. I've been pretty hard on him lately for it, too. Maybe you would consider going easy on him?" She looked into his deep green eyes. "Please?"

Kate bit her lip. "For you," she whispered, so relieved to see Dean whole and intact, not even a cough or a sneeze. But there were little signs he had been seriously ill, like the fading circles under his eyes, the way his eyes didn't look quite right, and though his skin was a good color there was something off there, too. She felt him squeeze her hand as the door opened once again, this time admitting Sam and Mikey. But most of all was the twin looks of relief from Sam and Mikey, like a huge weight had recently been lifted from them.

"Hey, Mom!" Mikey rushed over, kneeling beside her for an embrace. Only Sam hung back, looking at the floor, walls or ceiling, anywhere but at her.

"Sam. Come give your mother a hug," she insisted, motioning to him. Sam dragged his feet over the carpet toward her like a prisoner approaching the gallows. She waited until he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before saying any more. "And I expect," she began, but Dean's hand found its way to her shoulder and squeezed. Kate let out a long breath. "If anything like this happens again, you are to call me first. And I want to know where you're going. Understood?" she shook her finger at Sam.

He nodded, silent and sullen. She watched Dean stand. Before her amazed eyes, Dean leaned over into Sam, nudging the taller boy. Sam cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am."

Kate took in her boys. They were different. It was more than just relief; something had profoundly changed them, all of them. What could do that?

"Why is John Winchester here?" she heard herself ask.

"Well, it's not like anyone invited him," Dean replied, his voice dark, as he sat next to her again.

"Then why is he still here?" she demanded.

Dean usually backed down when she looked directly at him. This time he looked back, his face thoughtful. "I figured he might be some help." He shrugged. "This time."

Kate felt tears sting her eyes. "But why was he here first?"

Dean smiled at her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Mom, I told you he wasn't invited. You were."

"We were pretty surprised to see him," Sam assured her. "I never thought he'd actually show up, even if we had asked him."

Dean looked up at Sam. He nodded, then he cast a look over at Mikey. Mikey took a seat next to her, presumably to continue to assure her while Dean and Sam stepped off to the side to hold a hushed conversation. It did not last long and they both came back with smiles.

"Is that candy?" Kate pointed to the floor in front of the television. "On the floor?"

"Probably," Dean replied with a nod. "We were watching late-late-night talk shows." His voice implied that explained it all.

"And is that why you three have one big bed?" She pointed out their sleeping arrangements.

"Yes," all three boys answered together.

"Don't worry, Mom," Mikey told her, smiling, "Dean slept in the middle so Sam and I couldn't fight all night."

She shook her head. Apparently Mike was right: boys will be boys.

tbc…

**Next**: What do you do about a reaper?/What do you do with your mother on a hunt?


	13. Chapter 13

I know I said this wouldn't post until tomorrow, but I was able to finish it a little early. And tomorrow looks like it'll be a real busy day with work, so I decided to go ahead and post. Hope you like it!

**Chapter 13**

"Mom, you look tired from your trip," Dean said, surreptitiously checking his watch. "Should we go check out your room? Make sure it's all right?" He flashed her his most winning smile.

"Well, I suppose I should see where I'll be staying," she stood, smoothing her dress.

Dean held out a hand and Mikey slapped her room key into it. With a deep breath, he screwed up his courage and took their Mom by the arm. Sam opened the door for them as he led her outside. Her room was only two doors down, much to Dean's relief. It would be easier to keep an eye on her this close.

He let go of her arm to open the door. Dean walked through the room, checking everything out. When he circled back toward the door, Sam and Mikey flanked their mother just inside the doorway. Her red suitcase leaned against the wall behind them.

"Not bad, huh?" Dean asked. "Much nicer than the places we usually stay."

"Really?" The disapproving look came on her face again. Dean suppressed the urge to let out an irritated sigh. Why did he want her to come again?

"Yes, really," Sam replied, sounding annoying. "We're very careful how we spend our money."

"I've noticed," she snapped, walking away from them.

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"I suppose you have forgotten," Mom faced them, arms crossed over her chest, bright painted nails drumming across her elbows, "that I am a cosigner on all of your bank accounts?"

"Still?" Sam asked, his voice small. Sam must have been thinking the same thing as Dean; Mom knew something. Maybe that was the real reason she came, not just to see him.

"Yes, still!" She huffed, her voice loud in the relative quiet of the room. "And I want to know what exactly this road trip you three are on is all about. Most people don't need to shop at Ammo World, or Guns N Knives, or Electronics R Us when they're on vacation."

"Maybe that depends on the vacation," Mikey spoke up, shooting Dean a grin. The withering look he received caused him to take a step back looking down, no grin.

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Mom, you're tired. You've probably had a long trip. Why don't you just relax, maybe take a nap, and we'll discuss this later?"

"No," she snapped, as Dean feared she would, "I want some answers and I want them now!"

Sam stepped forward, clearing his throat, probably ready to spill everything. "No," Dean said quietly. Sam's gaze dropped back to him, one eyebrow up in question. Dean shook his head. They were not doing it this way, if they did it at all. By tilting his head toward the door, Sam and Mikey picked up the fact they were supposed to go. They did, leaving Mom alone with Dean.

"Mom, we're not doing this," Dean informed her, fighting to keep his voice steady. No one scared him like Mom, not freaky pagan scarecrows or psycho dead psychiatrists. Mom was capable of driving a stake right through his heart with a word or a look, and he wondered if she knew how much power she wielded over him. "I don't want to fight with you. And I doubt you want to fight with us."

She gave him that funny look again, the one he had not been able to pin down. What did it mean? "Dean," her voice was soft and distant this time, "when did you grow up?"

The question caught him off-guard. "I'm twenty-seven, Mom."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. You used to be frightened of your own shadow. Now even I can't bully you around anymore. What happened? You all seem so grown now." Mom wiped a hand over her eyes though Dean saw no tears, but her palm came away wet.

Dean shrugged. "Road trip." He took a hesitant step forward. "No one can bully me like you can, Mom." He offered her a small smile, hoped she would accept his peace offering.

Much to his surprise, she rushed the two steps between them to bury her face in his chest, sobbing. He noticed his hands were shaking as he lifted them to hold his mom. They stood that way for a while, her crying and Dean just holding her. Then she shook her head against his chest. "I didn't want it to be like that," she sobbed, still clinging to him.

"Like what, Mom?" he asked. The whole situation was perplexing, but out of everything that had happened this week, this was probably the most sane.

"A bully!" Her sobs started anew.

Shit, he shouldn't have said that. "I'm sorry Mom. I wasn't calling you a bully." He tried to get her to look at him, so he could show her how sincere he was, but she clung tighter.

"It's true!" She wailed, her hands clutching his shirt. "I did! I thought I could push you out of your shell, force you to be more like Sam and Mikey. But all I did was push you away!"

Dean shut his eyes, the revelation confirming what he always hoped; she did care. Mom loved him. He wrapped his arms tight around her, holding her close for as long as she would allow. They were never a touchy-feely family and he usually liked that, but right now he needed to feel her close, to know how much she cared. When her sobs quieted, Dean reached a hand down to turn her face to face him.

"I love you too, Mom." He smiled down at her. "But I'm still not telling you what we've been doing."

A laugh choked through her next sob. She nodded. "Maybe you all need to take me off your bank accounts."

"I'll leave that up to Sam and Mikey. But I like the idea you've been checking up on me," he winked at her. "Makes me feel wanted."

She hugged him again. "You are." He heard the promise in her voice and felt that silly, lop-sided grin cover his face.

"Get some rest, Mom. We'll all go to dinner in a little while." He felt a sense of loss as they separated, but it was necessary. Can't hang on to Mom forever.

-

* * *

After depositing Mom in her room for a nap and the space to freshen up, Dean turned to his brothers. "They're going to try again tonight." He checked his watch. "Half an hour. We need to go."

He headed to the car, his brothers close on his heels.

"Did you tell her?" Mikey asked, jogging to keep up.

"Nope," Dean replied without bothering to turn around.

"So what took so long?" Sam asked.

Dean paused beside the car. "I guess it was guilt." He shrugged, opening his door.

Sam and Mikey exchanged a look, shaking their heads at each other. "Dean, I think we should call Dad," Sam said, moving to the passenger door.

"Whatever," Dean shrugged, sliding behind the wheel, the most comfortable place in the world. He heard Sam talking into a cell phone, but he ignored it as he backed out of his parking space.

"He's coming," Sam said, putting his cell away. "He'll meet us at Roy's." Sam looked at him. "You're sure it's Sue Anne?"

"Yep." Dean drove in silence for a short while. "But how do you stop a reaper? Did Dad have any ideas?" He hated having to ask that, to feel some dependence on Dad, but did they have a choice?

"We have to break the spell. According to that spell book I found, she needs a dark altar, human bones, blood, stuff like that. It might be in the house somewhere. We need to find it and smash it." Dean wished he could share Sam's confidence.

Sue Anne's parting words to him, 'I won't press charges, God will take care of him,' sent a chill down his spine. He knew who the next target was, and it was not some guy passing out flyers. He had to be sure his brothers were occupied when it came after him.

"You two check out the house," Dean instructed. "It should go faster if you split up."

"Where will you be?" Sam demanded. Dean heard the mother hen worry in his brother's voice.

"Looking for the target, and Sue Anne," he said, keeping his eyes on the road. If Sam could look in his eyes now, he knew it would be all over.

-

* * *

As he and Mikey approached the house, Sam reflected on how many ways Dean seemed off tonight. Granted, when they saw the house was guarded, Dean appeared out of the shadows. He diverted the cops, racing into the motor homes and vehicles that took up semi-permanent residence on the LaGrange property. When Mikey moved to go inside the house, Sam grabbed his arm. "Already checked inside," he hissed, motioning with his head. They headed around the house. Sam hoped he would spot an exterior entrance to a cellar.

There was something in his older brother's demeanor that did not make sense. Almost as if…

"Mikey?" Sam whispered, spotting a protrusion from the ground.

"Yeah?" Mikey's whisper was soft, but so close to his ear Sam nearly jumped. How could a guy that big move so fast?

"What happened? When they threw Dean out of the tent?" he asked. At the time he was simply grateful his brother had not been arrested. That would have been one to explain to Mom: No, Dean isn't dying but we need bail money. He shook his head at the thought.

"Sue Anne didn't press charges," Mikey hissed in the dark.

"What?" Sam found the hatch that lead down into the cellar. It was not locked. "Any idea why not?"

"Something about God dealing with him." Mikey helped open the doors. There was light coming from below.

Sam paused before heading down, knowing Mikey's irrational fear of cellars. "Wait. She said God would deal with him?" Mikey nodded. He felt a lump form in his throat as one hand reached out to grab Mikey. "Go find him. Now. If he's right, if it is Sue Anne, then Dean might be the next target."

Even in the weak moonlight Sam saw Mikey pale. That was just like Dean, to shield them when he thought something was coming for him. He watched Mikey race away from the house in the direction of the muddy parking lot.

Sam headed into the cellar, knowing the only way to save his brother was to stop this madness. Anger flared at the thought of some stranger deciding his brother did not deserve to live. His sneakers hit concrete, he was in the cellar. The light he spotted from above came from candles, lots of candles. They illuminated an altar of sorts. It looked black with bleached white bones at strategic points, but as he came closer he realized that it was dark crimson. In the low light, the dried blood appeared black. A shudder ran through him at the thought of what it would take to create this. He did not care what Dean said about how desperate she was, Sue Anne was a fucking bitch.

There was a photograph in the center of the altar. With a shaking hand, Sam picked it up. It was a picture of Dean taken inside the tent, and there was a red X in blood drawn over his face. Sam felt heat rise off his face as his blood pounded into his head, echoing in his ears. Sue Anne was a psycho fucking bitch. A noise distracted him from his thoughts. It was the cellar doors closing.

Sam raced for the stairs, reaching the doors at the top as he heard a bolt slide into place.

"Sam, you have to understand. We're going God's work here." Sam thrust his shoulder into the doors, but they held fast. "We have to punish the wicked, and your brother, Sam, is wicked. Dean must pay."

No! Sam slammed his shoulder against the doors again and again. He heard Sue Anne sigh at his efforts before she left. Panicked, he raced back downstairs. He threw the dark altar to the ground, stomping out whatever he could. Now he was nearly in darkness, except for a shaft of light from behind him. Sam whirled around. A board hastily nailed over a window had a crack that admitted light from outside. Sam rushed over, yanking the board off with his bare hands. The window was big enough for him to fit through. He could still save Dean.

-

* * *

Mikey charged through the parked vehicles, searching desperately for Dean. Where was his brother? He heard voices and ducked behind the nearest truck. The cops who had been guarding the house walked by.

"Why do people even keep psycho dogs like that?" One complained to the other.

"No idea."

Mikey held his breath, willing the men to just go on by. He waited, hoping to see some sign of Dean, that his brother was okay. A noise like something heavy falling into the mud came from his left. Mikey carefully made his way towards it. A dark form darted behind another car.

"Dean?" he called softly, trying to follow the figure.

A tap on his shoulder startled him, making him jump. Dean stood behind him, a scowl on his face. "What are you doing here?" his brother demanded. "I thought you and Sam were checking out the house."

Mikey shrugged. "Sam went into the basement."

"Oh." Dean regarded him for a moment before heading off. "Come on, the tent is this way. Maybe you can yell fire this time."

Mikey followed as close as he dared. Then Dean straightened from his crouch. "Did you see that?" he asked.

Mikey looked around. "See what?"

"Mikey," Dean turned around, eyes wide, "is it getting colder?"

Mikey shook his head, even though that statement made his temperature drop about ten degrees. Dean got an odd look on his face. "Wait here," he ordered. Not looking for the cops, looking for all the world like some guy out for an evening stroll, his brother walked between the parked cars. When he reached the other side, he dropped to his knees.

Panicked, Mikey raced forward. Dean gasped for air, his face growing paler by the second.

-

* * *

Sam saw the figure standing just outside the tent. He ran toward her, but someone beat him to it. A large man towered over her. As he ran Sam heard heated words exchanged, then the man raised a fist and brought it crashing down on her. He reached them as Sue Anne crumpled to the ground. Quick eyes picked out the blood filled cross she still clutched in her hand. Sam picked it up, threw it to the ground. Deep red oozed from it, seeping into the ground.

"Think that'll do it?" Dad asked, his voice gruffer than normal.

Sam looked at him. "I hope so. I already destroyed the altar."

From their feet they heard a strangled gasp. They looked down. Sue Anne's mouth was open, her eyelids slightly parted revealing glassy eyes. Sam put a hand near her mouth. Nothing. "I think she's dead," he whispered.

"I doubt reapers like being controlled," Dad replied, eyes reflecting his hatred of this woman. Sam could empathize with that. Dad's hand steered him away from her body toward the parking area. "I think I heard that Mikey kid yell something from over here."

* * *

tbc…

Next: Will Mikey tell? Is Dean okay? What will Mom say?


	14. Chapter 14

Once again, a big thanks to everyone reading this and sticking with it. I can promise at least one more chapter, and that one will probably be fairly long, too. This one spiraled a little out of control, as did the brothers. I swear, I had a hard time reigning them in and telling them to go to bed already!

**Chapter 14**

"Dean!" Mikey's panicked cry led them through the parking area. On the far side, his brother's bulk could be seen kneeling over something. Sam rushed forward, praying it was not what he feared.

He heard heavy steps coinciding with his own. When he glanced over, Sam saw their Dad running right beside him, worry etched in the lines in his face. Sam concentrated on getting to Dean, forcing his legs to move faster. He slid to a stop beside Mikey, his feet crashing into Dean's legs.

"Dude, watch it!" Dean's voice barked at him.

Sam reached out, grabbed Dean by his brother's shirt and hauled him to a sitting position.

"What?" Dean groused as Dad joined his group of onlookers. "Can't a guy just take a nap?"

"Did it get you?" Sam demanded. He felt the shake in his hands as it spread into his arms and he wondered if he would be able to stand.

"Nah," Dean shook his head, using Sam to pull himself up. "Just went a couple of rounds, that's all." He looked unsteady on his feet, but his brother was standing.

"We should leave," Sam insisted, standing beside Dean, "now."

As they passed the area of the tent, he heard Roy's voice calling for Sue Anne. Dean paused, listening intently. Sam stayed close by his brother, allowing his fears from the past week to flood over him. In this weak light Dean looked pale and unsteady on his feet. But it was the look on Mikey's face that confirmed his fears. Mikey looked more scared right now than he had all week, even when Sam knew Mikey didn't think he was being watched.

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed. Shocked, Sam stepped forward to see what the problem was.

"What is it, Dean?" he asked as Dad gave him a funny look.

"Did he know?" Dean said, still sounding like he was talking to himself. His eyes turned to lock on Sam. "The healing doesn't work, so he calls for his wife?" Those green eyes were wide with disbelief.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. But we need to go." Dean wasn't moving, so Sam grabbed big brother by one arm. When Dean was moving easily back to the car, Sam noticed that Mikey had him by the other arm. Not for the first time, he was grateful for their younger brother on this trip. Granted, Mikey had been something of a pain in the ass this week, but he was probably the only thing that kept all of them grounded, sane. Not that Sam was going to admit any of that out loud. He'd rather get himself electrocuted first.

Without realizing what he was doing, Sam shoved Dean into the passenger seat and raced around to the driver's side. They had to get back to the motel so he could check out Dean in some good light, and fast. Sam slid behind the wheel, but the keys were not in the ignition. He patted down his pockets, searching for the keys when the big motor roared to life.

Dean's hand pulled away from starting the car when Sam glared at him. "Dude, relax. It's still my car." He rolled his eyes and Sam felt some of the pressure in his chest ease.

"Uh, sorry," Sam replied, turning the big car around to leave.

"I made up my mind," Dean stated from the passenger seat.

"About what?" Sam asked as he gunned the big car onto the road. A glance in his rearview mirror told him Dad was following.

"Who gets the car when I die."

The words stabbed. Sam was sure he winced. He heard Dean turn around in the passenger seat. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dean slung an arm over the seat. "Mikey, bury me in it."

The deep chuckle that reached his ears was not from Mikey, as he expected. It was Dean.

"Dude, lighten up," Dean chided before facing the front again.

Sam took a long look in the rearview mirror. Mikey was staring at Dean in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. After all the joking those two had done at Sam's expense for the past week, it made him wonder.

"What, no s'mores?" Sam asked, hoping to jar Mikey out of whatever mood he was in.

"You'd burn my car?" Dean placed a hand over his chest, feigning disbelief. "Guess I'd better stick around then, since nobody is willing to take care of my baby." He patted the dash in front of him. "Poor baby, nobody else loves you like I do."

Sam glanced in the mirror at Mikey again. Same facial expression. What the hell happened back there? At the sound of the motor racing, Sam looked down at the speedometer. They were at least twenty over the speed limit now. Sam eased off, fighting back his panic. The last thing they needed was to be pulled over right now. Sam did not know what he would do if it happened, but he was pretty sure he would not be able to hold it together.

He left rubber skid marks in the street outside the motel as he made a turn into the parking lot that would have made Steve McQueen proud.

"Sam!" Dean shouted from the passenger seat, clutching at the dash. "What the hell?"

Sam killed the big motor with a flick of the wrist. He turned to glare at Dean. "Let's go." Without waiting for a response, he jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

"Sam," Dean sounded angry as he stood outside the car, "if you don't start treating my car…"

"Now, Dean!" Sam headed around the car, ready to drag Dean inside if it were necessary. It looked like it would not be, though. Mikey stood behind Dean and was herding him toward the door, the shocked look replaced by grim determination. Rushing forward to open the door, Sam stood just inside waiting impatiently.

Dean crossed the threshold scowling, casting a patented Peavy glare at Sam as he passed. Sam ignored it, sharing a look of worry with Mikey. Dean stood in the middle of the room.

"What? You two gonna do a full examination, huh?" He demanded, throwing his jacket at the table. "Go ahead!" He held both arms up. "But no body cavity searches," he warned, shaking a finger.

Typically at least Mikey would share in the joke, throwing Dean a chuckle. This time the jest met with complete silence as Sam stepped forward, examining Dean's color and feeling his forehead.

"You two get healed of your sense of humor tonight?" Dean demanded. Sam felt his brother bristle as he moved on to press an ear against Dean's chest.

"Shut up," he instructed, listening for a regular, even heartbeat. He heard a strong heartbeat, but it seemed fast to Sam. "Mikey," Sam waved his younger brother closer. He pressed his ear against Mikey's chest, listened, then back against Dean's. Dean let out a large sigh, which Sam ignored. Dean's heart was not beating any faster than Mikey's, but from the look their baby brother had been sporting since finding Dean and the sheen of sweat on his face, Sam was not sure it was a good comparison.

There was a heavy knock on the door. More of a beating. Sam groaned, he had forgotten about Dad. Dean spun a chair around to sit, glowering at Sam. Sam went and opened the door, revealing John Winchester and Mom. Seeing the two of them voluntarily together, again, was a bit of a shock. Sam stood back to let them in.

Mom raced to Dean, cradling his face in her hands. "John told me you passed out, honey. You okay? Was it a relapse?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Dean insisted, trying to pull away.

But Mom was Mom, and there was no denying her when she had her mind set on something. "You look pale, Dean," she insisted, holding his face up to the light. "And your eyes don't look quite right."

Dean blinked up at her, his brows drawing together. "My eyes don't look right? What the h-" He stopped himself in midsentence. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"When you get sick, your eyes get this sick look to them." She frowned, tilting her head to the side. "Like now. Maybe we shouldn't go out to dinner. We can order in."

"I'm fine," he insisted again, glowering at everyone in turn. "You're all looking at me like…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged, directing his stare at a blank spot on the wall.

"Sam?" Mom turned to him. "Do you think you and Mikey can find us some dinner, dear?" she rummaged in her purse before holding out three twenty dollar bills. "Whatever you two want is fine with me."

Sam stared down at the money in his hand. Were the younger kids really being dismissed? He looked to Dean, hoping for a word or a phrase to save them from this temporary banishment, but Dean's eyes were locked on some invisible spot on the wall. With a sigh, Sam jerked his head at Mikey and they headed out.

In the car, Sam turned to Mikey. "What happened?"

Mikey started. That was when Sam realized his little brother had not spoken since screaming for Dean. The big guy just shook his head and looked out the window.

"Mikey," Sam reached out a tentative hand to rest on his brother's shoulder. "Something happened, didn't it?"

"He walked right up to it," Mikey whispered, staring out the window. "Didn't run, didn't even try." He turned to look Sam in the eye. Sam saw tears brimming in Mikey's eyes. He did not recall Mikey crying since the age of thirteen. Mikey had not cried over the doctor's pronouncement of Dean's impending death, or over anything in the past week.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, his breath catching in his chest.

"He really was ready to die, Sam." A tear cascaded down Mikey's cheek. "He walked right up to it!" Mikey punched the dash, more tears escaping.

Sam tried to wrap his mind around that concept, to understand that Dean could do that. It was too foreign, too alien for him to accept. "No." He heard the word whispered, and it was when Mikey turned to look at him, cheeks wet with moisture, that he realized it was his own voice.

Mikey wiped away the offending tears, looking ahead. With a trembling hand, Sam started the car. "I vote for drive-thru," he said, backing out of the parking space. One eye on Mikey, he saw his little brother – no, his baby brother – nod.

They returned laden with bags of fast food and drinks in disposable cups. Sam started to stuff one bag under his chin in order to open the door when he remembered there should be people inside. He kicked at the door until it opened. Mom held the door for them.

"Sam," Mom had that displeased tone in her voice, "maybe you can talk some sense into your brother. John and I have been trying to talk him into seeing a doctor, getting checked out."

Sam dumped his load on the table. "Apparently I can't talk him into anything anymore," he said, shooting Dean a hard look. After everything his brother had put them through this past week, and Dean still did not believe himself worthwhile? Then there was not much Sam could do. He watched Dean's eyes widen at that, but in typical Dean fashion, said nothing.

Sam rummaged through the bags, locating the one he wanted. "Here," he tossed it to Dean, "that one is yours. Just the way you like it." He looked at the others. "The rest are all regular cheeseburgers," he explained, passing the bags around.

He heard Dean clear his throat, but did not turn around. "Sam?" Still not looking, Sam told himself. As what Mikey told him sunk in during their fast food run, Sam realized what that strange look was. It was fear and horror all wrapped up in betrayal. Dean dying as the result of an accident was one thing, him walking up to Death and volunteering was something else all together.

"Mikey?"

Sam chanced a glance in Dean's direction. He looked confused and a little lost, eyes darting between the two younger brothers. After what Mikey said in the car, Sam did not feel the least guilty in creating this situation.

Dad cleared his throat. "Uh, I have to get up early tomorrow," he took one of the white bags, "so I think I'll head out now. Talk to you boys before you leave town?" He paused by the door.

"Yeah, sure," Dean's voice filled the void. Sam exchanged a look with Mikey. Using little brother coded looks, they agreed to continue to freeze Dean out. Mainly because it seemed to be working. The door slammed behind Dad.

"You know, I think you all look a little tired." Sam heard the crinkle of paper as Mom took one of the bags as well. "I think I'll go to my room. Let's have breakfast together?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, hearing his brothers parrot his response. He refused to look up even when Mom kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll walk you out," Dean said.

The moment the door closed behind Dean and Mom, Sam looked up at Mikey. "Now what?"

Mikey's face hardened. "You're asking me?" he demanded, standing.

"Dude, relax," Sam held up both hands. "I'm just as…as…freaked as you are, okay?" He dropped his unopened paper sack to run both hands over his head. "We gotta tell him something, right?"

Mikey paced in front of him, his mouth working and something like words pushed out, but nothing intelligible.

"Mikey, I think you lost the power of speech. Maybe you need to calm down?"

The withering glare was the only answer Sam received. He took it, knowing that the real subject of Mikey's anger would be back any second. As if on cue, the door opened admitting Dean.

"One of you want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Dean demanded, standing between them.

Mikey tapped Dean on the shoulder. When Dean turned, Sam was probably as shocked as Dean to see Mikey's fist flying through the air. Sam's jaw dropped before Dean hit the floor.

Dean's eyes opened from his spread-eagle sprawl on the floor. One hand worked his jaw tenderly. "Mikey, dude," he said, not attempting to move from his prone position, "something you want to say?"

"You're a jackass," Mikey hissed, pointing an accusing finger down at Dean.

"This is news?" Dean asked from the floor.

"Did…" Sam heard his voice break. He cleared his throat before trying again. "Did you walk up to that reaper?"

"What?" Dean's mask slipped, just for a moment, but Sam saw the flash of guilt.

"You did. Mikey was right," Sam nodded at Mikey in confirmation. "Okay, Dean. You need to get up now." He stood beside Mikey.

"Why?" Dean asked, still from the floor.

"So we can kick your ass," he said, feeling Mikey's anger radiating into the room.

Dean's eyes shifted between them. His face broke into a smile followed by a chuckle, then went blank when once again no one joined him. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "Sam. Mikey. I really don't understand what the hell you two are talking about." He looked up at them both like he was searching for answers.

Sam glared down. "After all the crap you put us through this week, you just walk up to a reaper? Don't even try to run, to give me a little more time to break the spell?" He shook his head, not wanting to believe that was what actually happened. If Mikey had not witnessed it, Sam was certain he would never have believed it.

"Look, you can't fear the reaper," Dean tried. Sam glared down, certain Mikey was doing the same. This was no time for music lyrics. Dean sighed, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning on his fists. "There's this girl, Layla."

Sam shot Mikey a look. They sank to the floor in front of Dean.

"Go on," Mikey demanded.

"She has an inoperable brain tumor. Her mom dragged her out here. She's been coming to every service for like six weeks, and Roy didn't pick her until after we show up." Dean sighed. "It isn't fair." His eyes had a far-away look in them. "I knew she was the type to never forgive herself if someone was sacrificed so she could live."

"So you volunteered?" Mikey whispered, his color paling.

Dean looked away and shrugged. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. There was definitely a headache building there that had nothing to do with freaky visions. Oh, at this moment, he wished all of this were simply a vision.

"Right." Sam nodded. "So you're a noble jackass." He opened his eyes to find himself staring into Dean's green orbs. "We're still going to kick your ass."

An odd look came over Dean's face. "I still don't get why you two are so upset. I mean, you can continue this freaky vengeance thing of Sam's without me."

"That's not the point, Dean!" Sam shouted. "The point is that we don't want to do it without you!"

Dean glared at him. "But you would. And eventually you'd forget about me, anyway."

"That's it," Mikey muttered, "I'm kicking his ass."

"For what?" Dean shouted. "It's not like I deserve to live. Some guy died! He died to heal me!" He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. Sam suspected Dean was withdrawing into himself too as a vacant look came into his brother's eyes.

Sam stood, shaking his head. He raked both hands through his hair. How did he let this get so out of control? "Come on, we need to eat," he said, reaching down to help Mikey up. He and Mikey pulled Dean up and into a chair.

"What did you do with your burger?" Sam asked, glancing around. He spotted the white bag in the floor and retrieved it for Dean. "Here. No onions or ketchup, just the way you like it. Eat."

"Not hungry," Dean tossed the bag onto the table. He stood and made his way over to the bed. After pulling off his boots, he climbed into the large bed, choosing to lay on Mikey's side with his back to them.

Sam glanced over in time to see Mikey's face darken. Mikey walked over to Dean, stood between the bed and the wall. When Dean turned over, away from Mikey, Sam knew that was a mistake. Mikey reached down, grabbed the underside of the bed, and yanked. The bed separated from the larger bed, producing a gap that Dean rolled into.

"Hey!" Dean jumped up, face red, fists up.

Mikey dropped the bed with a loud bang that made Sam wince. He watched as Mikey's bulk made a surprising leap into Dean, catching their older brother in the abdomen and throwing him into the larger bed. Mikey could so go pro, if he wanted. Sam was shocked to see Dean's face contort.

"No! Wait! Mikey!" Dean squirmed under Mikey, trying to escape. "Stop!"

Sam stood. What was going on? When he heard the chuckles, he knew. Sam sprang into action, racing the distance between the table and the bed, propelling himself onto his brothers. Long, lean fingers found their targets; the thick flesh under Mikey's arm and Dean's side just above the hip. He was rewarded with squirms from both, proving success. When his brothers turned on him, strong fingers found his weakest, most ticklish areas and Sam writhed under the assault. He attempted to lash back out, but Dean had one arm pinned and Mikey sat on one of his legs.

"I thought," he managed between desperate attempts to breathe, "we were getting Dean."

Mikey grinned maliciously, fingers twiddling in the air just above his stomach. "Then you shouldn't have gone after me, too." His brothers continued their tickle assault on him.

He managed to throw them both off and retaliate. But eventually they landed separately, still. Heavy breathing filled the room as they recuperated. Eventually Sam could sit, but his stomach muscles protested from the workout they just received. He hoped his brothers felt at least as bad. He forced himself off the bed to grab the white bags still waiting unopened on the table.

"This stuff is going to taste like crap cold," he said, tossing a bag to each of them.

Dean caught his bag. He held it in his teeth as he rounded the bed. Sam watched curiously as Dean pushed the single bed back up against the larger one. He crawled to the center of the big bed, avoiding eye contact.

As Mikey made for the bed, Dean's normal voice rumbled, "Drinks?"

Mikey tossed his bag next to Dean before going to the table for the drinks. Sam picked up two cups until Mikey glared at him. Sam handed over Dean's drink. Mikey snatched it from his hand and marched back. Sam rolled his eyes at Mikey's back. When he scooted onto the bed, Dean caught his eye. A smirk tugged at one side of his mouth and his eyes darted to Mikey then rolled expressively. Sam could not help the smile that forced its way onto his mouth. He bumped Dean's shoulder as he settled onto the bed. Dean subtly bumped back.

"Where's the…?" his voice trailed off as the television came on. Sam sat forward to see the remote in Mikey's hand.

"Like I was going to let you pick what we watch," Mikey growled, apparently not quite willing to give up on his foul mood.

"We might have to tickle him again," Sam muttered.

"Wouldn't do any good," Dean replied, staring at the television. "With a head that thick."

"Still ticklish," Sam argued.

"Still in the room," Mikey said.

"On purpose?" Dean asked, tossing Sam a wink.

The television went blank. "Dean. Repeat after me: I, Dean Peavy…" Mikey glared at their oldest brother.

Dean glanced to Sam. He shrugged, nodding in Mikey's direction. Dean sighed, stuffing his burger back in the bag. "I, Dean Peavy," he parroted.

"Promise to run like hell if I ever see another reaper."

Dean sighed. "Promise to run like hell if I ever see another reaper, even if it won't do me any good."

Mikey glared at Dean. A thick finger poked Dean in the chest. "You'd better. It's not like you're easy to forget, you know."

"Whatever. Anything on that doesn't suck?" Dean asked, pulling out his burger again. "You're right, Sammy. These are terrible cold."

Sam let out a deep breath. Finally, the tension was broken and he did not have to worry about Dean doing anything else stupid. Well, at least not today.

tbc…

Next: Goodbyes


	15. Chapter 15

Yes! This is the last _Faith_ chapter! Whew! I hope it lives up to expectations. On a personal note, I noticed that over 50 wonderful, smart, intelligent people (yes, I can be a suck-up) have me on author-alert. I'd love to write a little something to commemorate that fact, but I'm drawing a blank here. Is there anything you've wanted to see of our favorite guys, but haven't yet?

**Chapter 15**

_We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;  
Amid these earthly damps  
What seem to us but sad, funeral tapers  
May be heaven's distant lamps._ - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Something was slipping away, through his hands. Mikey clutched at it, trying to grasp the precious object, but it slid between his fingers. He watched as the shimmering object swirled away, right down the drain. No! He had to get it back. He plunged an arm down the tiny hole, surprised that he could reach down into it. He felt around, searching for what he had lost, but it fell too deep. He reached further, his arm was in up to his shoulder. He thought he felt something brush his fingertips. When he tried to look, he found the hole was big enough for his head and neck, too. Holding the lip of the hole with his other hand, Mikey leaned as far down as he could reach, wishing he had Sam's long arms. He found himself sliding down, both hands in front of him, his feet catching the edge of the hole. Dangling, he felt around frantically for what he lost.

"Mikey!" A voice filtered down from the hole. Mikey ignored it, feverishly continuing his search. He had to find it, he had to!

"Mikey!" Something glittered in the corner of his eye. Mikey reached for it. It was just beyond his grasp. If he strained, he could just touch it with his fingertip. He slid his feet further off the edge, hanging on by the tips of his shoes. He could touch it now. It was nearly in his reach.

"Mikey! Open your damn eyes!"

He frowned. His eyes were open. He could see that shiny thing he needed, feel it almost in reach. It was important, he had to get it. He stretched, reaching for it again.

"Mikey! Wake the hell up!"

He closed his eyes and forced them open again. Two blurred faces hovered over his. Mikey blinked a few more times and the faces came into focus. A pair of green eyes and a pair of hazel eyes set into identical worried expressions stared down at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to sit up.

"Easy, big guy," Dean held him down. "You all right? How's the head?"

His head? Mikey reached up to feel his head. There was a lump on the back. "How did I do that?" he asked, still looking up at his brothers.

"Well you fell out of bed, genius," Dean scoffed. "Hurt?"

The lump was tender, but he did not have a headache. He shook his head.

"See?" Dean turned to Sam. "Like a rock."

Four hands reached down to pull him up. Mikey looked around as he sat on the edge of the bed. The window was still dark and the only light came from the bedside lamp. His eyes flicked to the clock. Two in the morning.

"Shit," he breathed. "I woke you up. Sorry."

"Sam, get some ice," Dean said as he sat beside Mikey. When the door closed, his brother bumped his shoulder. "Bad dream?"

Mikey rubbed his face. Dean was the king of nightmares, he would understand. "I guess." It was a blur. "I lost something, something important." He struggled to remember, but only the feeling of panic remained.

"Remember what it was?" Dean asked, his voice soft.

Mikey had to chuckle at that, what he remembered was so silly. "Just that it was shiny."

"How did you lose it?"

Mikey glanced at his brother. Dean seemed a little too interested in his dream. "It went down the drain," he replied. He gave Dean a shrug, watching his big brother's face shift subtly into that guarded expression Dean usually reserved for other people. Mikey frowned at that, he did not like being considered 'other people.'

"What?" Mikey demanded, the feeling of being left-out returning in full force.

"Nothing." Dean's face was still guarded.

"Here," a towel filled with ice was thrust into his hand.

"Sam? When did you get back?" Mikey looked up, pressing the ice against the knot on the back of his head. Now that he touched it, it started to hurt.

"Down the drain," Sam replied, bouncing the bed as he threw himself back. Mikey winced as the bouncing jarred his head. "Any idea what it was?" he asked.

"It was shiny," Dean answered, crawling back into the middle of the bed. "C'mere, Mikey." He patted the spot next to him.

Confused, Mikey shifted over until he sat by his oldest brother. "What?"

Dean got on his knees. "Let me see," he ordered. Mikey took the ice away. He felt Dean's fingers gently prodding at his lump. A low whistle greeted his ears. "Nice goose-egg there, Mikey. Sure you don't have a headache?"

"No," he snapped.

"No, you don't have one, or no, you're not sure?" Sam asked, still spread across the bed with his eyes closed.

"No headache." Tired of the cross-examination, Mikey shoved the ice back onto his head with a little too much force, making him wince again.

"Let's get some sleep," Dean yawned. "I want to put Salvation as far in our rearview as we can tomorrow."

Mikey tried to lay on his back, but the knot made itself known with a sharp spike of pain right through his skull despite the ice pack. He rolled to his side. Not the most comfortable position for him, but he hoped to sleep a couple of hours.

After a while he felt a prod in his back. "Lift up, Mikey."

It was Dean's voice. He raised his head, wondering what was going on. Had he fallen asleep? The room was dark. He heard something wet hit the floor and felt his pillow being turned over. He settled back down into his dry pillow, immediately more comfortable. As he sunk down, trying to retrieve the sleep that was just lingering over him, he heard, "Son of a bitch," hissed into the dark.

"What is it?" He started to turn over.

"Stay there," Dean whispered. He felt an arm snake under his head, wrap under his neck across his chest, and a hand grab his arm. Dean's side pressed into his back as his brother pulled him close.

"Dean?" What the hell was this? No one had held him this way since the last time a thunderstorm scared him awake, when he was about nine.

"Shut up." The words buzzed in his ear. "Nobody is going down the drain. Not tonight." Dean's arm squeezed tight, making breathing uncomfortable, but Mikey did not want to complain. Between the headache permeating his brain and the lack of breath, this was the best Mikey felt in over a week. He closed his eyes, pressing his back against his big brother.

-

* * *

Sam opened his eyes, feeling like he was forgetting something. There was something he needed to do. What was it? He sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. Out of habit, he reached out to check on Dean, but his brother was not as close as he usually was. Sam looked over. Dean was on the far side of their new, improved big bed, right up against Mikey's back.

He decided it would be easier to satisfy his paranoia from the far side of the bed. Sam walked around. Before he could reach over, he realized that Dean was hanging onto Mikey with one arm like a huge teddy bear. The rise and fall of Dean's chest was visible as the ugly bedspread shifted with his breathing. As he watched his brothers sleeping, the reason for waking came to him. He had to get to Roy's.

-

* * *

He had no feeling in his left arm. It was dead. Oh man, was that where the reaper grabbed him? Dean remembered the old man reaching for his face, not his arm. He forced his eyes to open. Yellow water marks on a dingy white ceiling greeted him in early morning light. He blinked for a few moments, taking stock. Overall he felt fine, except for the fact his left arm was devoid of any sensation. He tried to wiggle the fingers on that hand, but still felt nothing.

Turning his head to the left, Dean saw the cause of his discomfort. His arm was under Mikey. Was there a thunderstorm last night? No, something else scared Mikey, he remembered, him. He really had to stop scaring his brothers like this. Using the hand that still had blood flow, Dean scrubbed his face. He should feel bad for being the cause of all this time, trouble and emotion, but he wasn't. A grin forced its way onto his face as he stared up, realizing not only that his brothers dragged him out here so they might not lose him, but his Mom and, of all people, Dad came to check on him, too. If Pop were here that would complete the set. He knew Pop had to run the shop, but the nightly phone calls 'just to talk' did not go unnoticed.

All these people, his family, pains in the asses that they were, almost made the price worth it. Almost. Dean wondered about the man who died because of him. Sam had pointed out that this stranger would have died anyway; someone else would have been healed at his expense. That did not make it right. Sam was good at rationalizing in order to get what he wanted, Dean wasn't. He looked at the bulk to his left. But he was a good big brother. He could pretend everything was all right.

The door opened and Sam appeared with three steaming cups. "About time," Dean whispered, motioning Sam closer. "Get the hulk here off of me."

Sam flashed a grin worthy of pre-flaming-girlfriend days as he set his cargo down. Still sporting that grin, he came over to help extricate Dean from their baby brother. Using his good arm, Dean crawled off the bed. He massaged his left arm as he eyed the steaming cups. "One of those for me?"

"Duh." Sam handed over a cup. "Black."

Dean sat at the table, flopping his arm against his side, hoping life would start flowing back into it. He sipped his coffee, which tasted better than it ever had. Should he feel guilty over feeling so good? So relieved? Or should he take this and move on, now that they prevented it from happening to anyone else?

Dean rubbed at his arm as circulation started, painful prickling easing its way down from his shoulder. He heard Sam chuckle, watching him. Shooting his brother a glare, Dean tried to ignore the return of feeling as he sipped at his coffee. It crept slowly down, needles of pain searing his muscles. Dean let it come, knowing he deserved far worse for not feeling more guilt, more remorse, for living. The only thing he really felt bad about was the fact he could not help Layla. She was an innocent in all of this. It was not fair he lived when she was going to die. Or that she was so pretty.

"Problem?" Sam stared at him through the steam of coffee.

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "Just thinking."

"I, uh, don't remember any thunderstorms last night," Sam said, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Nope." He could not help the hiss as a new surge of pain shot down to his fingers.

"He have another nightmare?" Sam asked, nodding toward the bed.

"No." Dean shook his arm as he reached for his coffee.

Sam's fingertips drummed on the table. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

Dean sipped his cooling coffee. "Not."

Sam groaned. "Come on. I tell you everything."

Dean lifted one eyebrow. "When you get damn good and ready. How long did you wait to tell me about the visions?"

Sam bit his lip, looking away. "Nevermind."

"Yeah," he downed a gulp of coffee. "That's what I thought."

Silence settled over the brothers. Dean grinned in triumph at his brother. He was amazed at the fact he actually won an argument with Sam. What was the world coming to?

A knock shattered the silence. Sam jumped up to answer, leaving Dean to nurse his recuperating arm. A moan from the bed signaled that the knock woke Mikey.

"Morning, boys!" Mom blew into the room, a primal force not to be ignored. "Wakey, wakey!"

"Oh god," Mikey moaned as his bulk rolled off the bed, "it's after me."

Sam crossed the space to the bed in two long strides to grab a pillow and chuck it at Mikey's head. "Get up already."

"Ow!" Mikey hissed as the pillow smacked him in the back of the head. "Damn, I have a headache."

"What you get for falling out of bed," Dean pointed out. "You want the shower now?"

"No," Sam answered.

Dean looked up. "I wasn't asking you."

"I know, I, uh," Sam glared at Mikey, "I just figured you'd like to go now. So we can go to breakfast."

Mikey looked over. "Go ahead," he waved, "it'll take me that long to get out of bed."

Dean turned to Mom. "I'll be here when you come out, dear," she said, taking a seat at the table and the third coffee. Dean noticed Sam's face as Mom drank Mikey's coffee. He wished he could take a picture, it was priceless. Grinning to himself, he grabbed his duffel and headed into the bathroom.

Freshly showered, Dean walked out of the bathroom into a heated discussion of what to get Pop for Christmas this year. He was saved from participation by another knock on the door. Mikey raced past him into the bathroom, duffel in hand. Expecting Dad, and a reprieve from the family argument, Dean pulled the door open. His eyes rested on Layla standing in his doorway.

"Uh. Hi." He stared, dumbfounded.

"Hi. Sam said you were leaving and that you wanted to say something?" She smiled at him.

"Okay." He stood looking at her, waiting for his brain to engage.

"We should go get a table," Sam's voice broke through his stupor. "Come on, Mom."

Sam forced Mom out of the room, protesting. "But Sammy, I want to stay. You can save the table for us by yourself." Sam gave Layla a stunning smile as he shoved Mom outside.

"So that's your mom, huh?" Layla said, smiling. When he said nothing, she stepped forward. "You going to invite me in?"

Dean moved back, motioning for her to come in. The shower started up in the bathroom behind him. She gave him a questioning look.

"My brother," he explained lamely with a shrug.

"But I thought Sam was your brother." She said, glancing toward the closed door.

"He is. Mikey's the baby." He felt that lopsided grin coming on. "Baby Huey."

She laughed. It was a light hearted laugh, not the laugh of someone dying.

"So," his eyes darted down to the floor before resting on her face, "what happened?"

She looked away, took a deep breath. "He tried." Layla met his gaze. "It didn't work. I don't feel any different."

Dean felt crushed. Some part of him hoped that the reaper was able to take enough to help her, at least give her more time to find an answer, if she could. "I'm sorry," he told her, and he meant it. He did walk up to that reaper, scaring poor Mikey half to death, because he thought she deserved it. That and he saw no point in running.

"No, it's okay." She grinned at him. "Really. I guess if you're going to have faith, you can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't."

He felt the air catch in his throat, but that familiar leaden feeling did not settle this time. His eyes did not dart away. He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to say. "I, uh, well, the whole praying thing isn't my scene." She nodded and there was no surprise there. "But I will pray for you."

Her eyes widened at that. "Well. I guess that's a miracle right there." Layla graced him with a smile before turning to leave.

She was long gone before Dean noticed that the shower was not running. When he stopped to think about it, he did not remember if there was the sound of running water during his conversation with Layla. "She's gone."

The bathroom door opened and Mikey stepped out. He avoided looking at Dean as he tossed his duffel by the wall. "Ready?"

"Nope." He pulled out his cell. "Maybe I should call Dad? For breakfast."

"He did help out," Mikey mumbled.

"Did he?" Dean glanced up, his thumb over the button to connect his call.

"Sam said he got to Sue Anne first," Mikey said.

"When did he say that?"

"When Mom sent us out on the food run last night," Mikey pointed a finger, "and you let her, by the way."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude. Like I can stop Mom from doing anything!"

"You stopped her from asking what we're doing on our road trip," Mikey replied, still sounding accusing.

"Yeah, I did." Dean turned to face him. "And I made her cry. Don't plan on doing that again any time soon."

As Mikey's jaw dropped, Dean pressed the button on his cell and held it up to his ear. "It's Dean. We're heading over to the diner for breakfast if you want to join us. … No, I'm not kidding, you're invited. … Hell, I don't care. Show up or not." He jabbed at the button to end the call.

"That man is a royal pain in the ass," he said, glaring at his phone.

"Almost as if you're related, huh?"

He cut his eyes at his baby brother. "Funny. You're a real funny kid."

Mikey stood up to him. "You should know. Pop says I got my sense of humor from you."

Dean sniffed. "Too bad you couldn't get my good looks, too." He jerked his head at the door. "Let's go." He headed outside.

"Hey, Dean?" Mikey's heavy steps sounded loud on the pavement. "Think you can make Mom cry when she says goodbye? I'd pay some good money to see that."

"Mikey, you don't just…" Dean glanced over. "How much?"

Mikey's shoulder crashed into his and Dean could not contain the laugh that forced its way out as he struggled to regain his balance. "Dude, really, lay off the fries. And Sam wonders why our gas mileage sucks."

"That's it! I'm telling Mom!" Mikey ran the rest of the way to the diner. Dean watched him go, shaking his head. He knew better than to run against Mikey. The kid might be big, but he was fast. If Mikey went to college, and then pro, his baby brother could make some serious money. But Mikey did not want that future, his baby brother wanted to stick around him. Dean knew Sam would do his own thing one day, he seemed destined for that. For now they were all together, and nothing else mattered except this moment.

A squeal of tires on asphalt directed his attention to a speeding black truck. Looked like Dad did not want to be left out of breakfast. Dean paused outside the diner, a moment to himself before joining the bickering, irritating people he called family, whom he would not trade for anything. Live in the moment, he told himself, just live in the moment.

"Hey, son. Ready to eat?" Dad walked up behind him.

Dean shot him a look. "Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" He allowed the smile to come after he turned his back on Dad. This, for example, was a good moment to live in.


End file.
